Hatred is Harder to Bear
by Wujjawoo
Summary: Harry had never thought there might come a day when he would envy Draco Malfoy, but that day had finally arrived, and he had never felt worse. Nor had he thought the day would come when it hurt to be rejected by Severus Snape, but that day too, was here.
1. Chapter 1

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Not HBP compatible. Dumbledore is alive and Snape is still at Hogwarts. Snape was not DADA teacher. Majority of story held in seventh year. **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

_What an odd thought._

"Pathetic," sneered Snape, watching impatiently as they boy hauled himself once again from the stone floor. The foolish boy wouldn't even meet his eyes now, though for what reason he could not fathom.

"Again," drawled Snape, lazily raising his wand. It was so _easy_ trying to break into the boy's mind. There was no _trying _in it, honestly. For the sixth time that evening he delved into the boy's mind, rifling viciously through the memories. He sought out a particularly hurtful one and brought it to the fore, barely even flinching against the boy's useless resistance. It was obvious the boy hadn't been practicing. Every time he felt emotion he would go to pieces, and Snape grew weary of the time they spent wastefully practicing something the boy would never grasp.

He never felt bad about what he saw in the boy's mind. In fact, sometimes he even _enjoyed _the brat's discomfort and anger. It wasn't like he went out of his way to draw out the bad emotions, at least not all of the time. The boy needed the practice while he was under stress, even if he didn't like it. But it was not Snape's job to care, and the delightful justification of the pain the boy felt was _such_ a better way of insulting the memory of James Potter.

Snape browsed through the memory again, taking particular delight in the precise moment that Black realised he had lost, and felt the last of the boy's will buckle before him. He withdrew from the boy's mind, sneer forming on his face.

"An absolutely pitiable attempt. Your shields are nothing more than weak, feeble walls that buckle at the slightest pressure. I should be glad I will not have to see the inside of your dismal mind until next year. Get out."

The glare sent his way was wholly unbecoming, and Snape felt a vicious stab of triumph. The boy was rude and arrogant and _lazy_, just like his father. Ah well, a few weeks of holidays would give him a well-deserved break in which he could re-establish the foundations of his hate for the boy so that he would again be able to put up with the trial of teaching him Occlumency.

With an irritated scowl he returned to his office, and as he sat the thought from Potter's mind briefly ran through his head.

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

What in Merlin's name did that mean? He gave a snort of displeasure. The last thing he needed was to be thinking of incomprehensible riddles that came from _that _boy's head.

**oOoOo**

As Harry followed his Uncle through the front door of the house on Privet Drive, what was undeniably a Smelting's stick descended upon his shoulders with a hard _crack_. He winced, ducking slightly to relieve the pressure, and dropped his trunk. Uncle Vernon spun to face him, his face an ugly red.

One of these days, thought Harry, as he did every time he returned to Privet Drive, you're going to drop dead of a heart attack and I'm damned well going to be here to enjoy it.

Dudley shuffled behind his father and Harry sent him a nasty scowl.

"Get to your cupboard, boy, I don't want to see you," he hissed. "I won't have you upsetting Petunia or Marge."

Harry bent to lift is trunk and dragged it into his cupboard, hating the thought of this family. In a curious twist of fate, it had been Aunt Marge who succumbed to heart failure, and he had home at the end of fifth year to find his few meagre belongings strewn carelessly across the floor of the cupboard under the stairs and the broad mass of Aunt Marge draped across his bed in Dudley's old second bedroom. Now in residence, along with that damnable dog of hers, her presence had not made things any better.

Harry closed the door as softly as he could behind him and flicked the light switch. Nothing. He should have known better than to think that Uncle Vernon would have thought to replace the broken light bulb. He refrained from swearing and, fumbling in the darkness, pulled up the loose floorboard in the corner of the cupboard. Scrabbling through the dust that had drifted there over the months, he retrieved the torch he had used for the better part of last year and flicked it on. The light was dim and yellow, and he thought briefly about a trip to Dudley's room or Uncle Vernon's study for new batteries.

Later, though. Moving quickly, he flung the lid of his trunk open and piled anything that was remotely magical into the dirty space beneath the floor. He remembered last year when he had walked in and Aunt Marge had insisted they search his belongings for the contraband items she was sure would be there. _Drugs_, she had said, flinging open the lid. _Pornography. Weapons._

It was simply bad luck that the first thing she had come across was his charms book.

_Black magic!_ Aunt Marge had screamed. _The little devil practicing witchcraft on my brother's family!_

Aunt Petunia had led a distraught Aunt Marge away to console her and Uncle Vernon had given Harry the appropriate punishment. Harry sighed. He would make certain that wouldn't happen again, that was for sure.

He remembered the time Uncle Vernon had hit him. That was the day Aunt Marge had found out about _freaks_, and found out that Harry was one of them. Uncle Vernon had been so furious and afterward he'd just stood there staring down at Harry, panting like a bull, and Harry had stared up at him in stunned silence. That was the moment he'd realised that the Dursley's would _never_ think of him with anything other than hate, and he knew he had been a fool to have hoped otherwise. He'd laid there on the floor, arms braced against the tiles, and then he'd gotten up and gone to his cupboard. He waited until he'd shut the door before his hand went to his jaw and he let the betrayal flash across his face, but that had been that.

That day had been a turning point in the Dursley household. Harry had been too ashamed to tell anyone, afraid that they would find out how he was treated, and the Dursley's had gained confidence around him. They _knew_, now, that he wouldn't tell anyone, even though he promised himself every time that he would.

At first Uncle Vernon had been afraid of what he'd done, fearful of retribution, but Aunt Marge's presence had been a source of strength for him. Together with Dudley, they sought to break Harry. They never did anything more than taunt him and mock him, at least until the evenings. Sometimes when the alcohol came out he would get a shove, or get thrown into his cupboard, but he tried not to let it worry him. He was angry, so angry at them for it, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that he would be gone within a few weeks.

So he saved his anger for the person who really deserved it. He saved it so he would be able to kill.

**oOoOo**

Harry glared up at the wide form blocking the doorway of his cupboard. Dudley grinned down at him, twirling something between his fingers. It was too dark to see much, but Harry could see the glint of teeth in his wide grin. He sneered at Harry's lack of responsiveness and straightened.

"You're so pathetic," he scoffed, looking down at Harry. Harry drew his knees up to his chest and leaned his head so that he might see Dudley better. Dudley grinned again. "Did you have a good birthday?" he asked, smirking.

"Go away, Dudley," said Harry.

"I guess not. I forgot to tell Dad to take the lock off your door. That can't have been too good, can it?" He shrugged as though he had only made a minor error and Harry felt his anger burn. His birthday had been over two weeks ago. Obviously Dudley thought it was a particularly momentous triumph that they had forgotten to celebrate it, and he kept bringing it up.

He shoved his anger down. _Only a week…_

He counted down the days, sitting in his dark little cupboard and plotting victorious and satisfying moments of revenge. Eventually Dudley left him alone, but he didn't forget to secure the lock. Harry felt disgust at his relatives. He had not thought they would regress to those years when they'd locked him in the cupboard and starved him.

He felt disgust at himself. He was such a coward for not telling someone.

As soon as Dudley left, Harry pulled the book he had been reading from under his mattress and switched the torch back on. Reading had been a lifeline in this silent, solitary environment, and he found he could almost enjoy it. It took the hours away like nothing else did, and he _learnt_ things, things he would never learn at Hogwarts.

They weren't books that anyone else knew he had, and he doubted he'd be allowed to keep them if anyone found out, but he had to defeat Voldemort somehow, and he wasn't going to do it with a jelly legs jinx. So he read, and learned, and stored his emotions for a time when they would matter.

That night he laid down on the thin, lumpy mattress and pulled the skimpy blanket over himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the pounding rain outside. It was so peaceful, so tranquil, and he drifted in a sea of calm. He nearly enjoyed these times, when he could just shut everything out and pretend he was happy. He rubbed his scar and sighed, and then sat up in sudden realisation. He blinked and listened to the patter of rain above his head, and smiled. He called the sense of peace to his mind again and closed his eyes.

He couldn't be sure- wouldn't be sure until he got back to Hogwarts- but he thought that maybe, just maybe, this was what Occlumency was. It wasn't magic, he thought, wishing Snape had explained that to him. He fell asleep.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Short, yes, but just an intro. I don't think this story will be too long, but I've been dying to write it for ages so it should be good. And help! How many girls in Harry's year in Gryffindor? Is there only three? Please review- Wujjawoo. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed :) Special thanks to Greyflower, my first reviewer! Your comments were much appreciated. The answer to your question is 16 and a half. **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

Snape scowled down at the students filing into the Great Hall. He hated this part of the first day- the inane Sorting Ceremony and the following feast. Everyone was so _happy_, and he hated it. The Gryffindors were the worst; loud and laughing with no respect for anyone else's ears.

He absently rubbed his left arm as it twinged; saw the Potter boy simultaneously rubbing that infernal scar. Oh, how he detested that brat. He forced the thought of Harry Potter from his mind and looked away, because despite his dislike of September the 1st, nothing could spoil his mood tonight.

How they would stare when they found out, he thought with glee. How they would despair. He couldn't wait for the moment when Dumbledore would announce his new position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. The anticipation was so _unbearable_. He had finally achieved it; after all these years of trying, he has succeeded. He knew he would do a good job, knew he would enjoy it, and knew that he could teach these students better than any other.

With a satisfied smirk, Snape surveyed the reactions of the students. He looked with pride at his Slytherins, who all looked please; with interest at the Ravenclaws, who looked intrigued; looked with condescension at the Hufflepuffs, who all looked nervous; and with scorn at the Gryffindors, who looked none to happy. His smirk grew wider and he sought out the boy who had gotten such an unbelievably _high_ score on his DADA OWLS, and he found him between a murderous looking Weasley and an apprehensive though hopeful-looking Granger. He sat with his shoulder hunched, staring morosely at the table and absently picking a nail.

He looked away. He would not admit that he was disappointed at the boy's reaction; he had better things to think about than a sulking teenager whom he would be seeing the very next day.

After the feast he left for his chambers, not keen to join the party planned by the other teachers.

"Hello, sir," greeted a student as he passed the entrance to the Slytherin dorms.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Nott," he murmured, sweeping past them.

"Congratulations, sir." Smug, proud, _superior_.

He smirked, turning the corner and moving out of sight.

**oOoOo**

His first lesson as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He smiled in self-approval and scanned the still-empty classroom. As the students, seventh years, filed in, he noted their change in appearances, most notably his Slytherins. They had grown so much since he first taught them, and he had only let the most worthy into this class. To his chagrin, however, the other houses had equally skilled members, undoubtedly due to Potter's little club.

Draco was the first in, taking a seat with Theodore at the front. Oh so unfortunately, Vincent and Gregory had failed to make it into this class. It was an unusually large class for a NEWTs subject, but that pleased him. The Ravenclaws came next, eager to be on time. Parvati Patil and her giggling friend that he always forgot the name of, followed by three older boys. The front two rows were full. Hufflepuffs next, unwilling to be early, but unwilling to face his wrath if they were too late. Hannah Abbot, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchly. And finally Gryffindors, defiant to the last. All of them, he thought, watching the eight of them file in and take seats in the rear rows.

Thomas, Finnigan and Longbottom, taking seats near Patil and that infernal, giggling- ah, Weasley and Granger, sitting either side of Potter. Eternally _loyal_, he sneered to himself. It was disgusting. Fawning over him in worry, looking like he was- now that he looked, Potter _did_ seem rather haggard. Bags under the eyes and a little too thin. Ah well, it was not his problem. If the boy wanted to go to extremes to get more attention, he'd let Albus sort it out.

**oOoOo**

Harry ate so much at dinner that night he thought he'd burst. He sighed as he thought of the meeting at King's Cross the day before. ("Just a fight with Dudley, honestly. You know how big the great lump is…"). And it was true, the split lip and the bruise on his cheek had been Dudley, a bit too aggressive when he'd shoved Harry in the kitchen. He'd hit the door frame a little too hard and got blood on the carpet, and hadn't _that _been a great day.

_They are so lucky I don't have to show my face around there again. _

He was so _glad _to be back at Hogwarts, even though Ron and Hermione both said he seemed down.

_Yeah? Well I guess I am_, he told them, and they'd lain off after that. Life really was a drag.

Despite this fact, he'd really enjoyed classes today. Especially Defence, he thought in amazement. Snape was a _really good teacher_.

_Not a very nice one though_, another voice added.

Later that night he curled up in bed with the hangings pulled tight and opened a photo album that Lupin had given him last Christmas. It had belonged to Harry's parents, he said, but Harry had yet to look through it. He smiled sadly, tracing his finger over the faces of his parent on their wedding day. On the next page his mother sat alone on a chair, looking sadly down at something. A moment passed, and as he watched she looked up and beamed happily, mouthing something at the camera. He turned slowly through the pages, seeing only photos of his parents and their friends, but finally in the middle, he came to ones with himself. One of the day he had been born. One of him sleeping curled up next to a proudly grinning James Potter. One of his mother reading a book as she sat next to him. On of his mother sitting, cradling him in her arms, looking down at him with a look of total adoration on her face, his father standing behind her. Harry smiled, but then felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes were drawn to the words scrawled across the top of the page.

_You may not believe until you can see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

It was such an innocuous statement that Harry doubted he would have noticed it had it not been so familiar. He stared down at it, urging it to reveal its secret, but he could find nothing unusual about it. Confused, he pulled out a piece of parchment and penned a letter to Remus, asking about the saying. He grabbed his Cloak and headed up to the Owlery to find Hedwig. He watched the snowy white owl disappear against the dark horizon and wondered if he was getting into anything, or if he was simply being paranoid.

**oOoOo**

"Diffindo!" yelled Dean, and the spell caught the front of Harry's shirt a second before he cast a Stunner and his opponent fell. He scowled down at his ripped shirt in consternation before repairing it with a flick of his wand. He looked up to see Snape staring at him. Snape sneered and looked away, so Harry woke Dean and moved back over to his friends, his heart pounding slightly.

He sat back at his desk and watched in boredom as the next pair got up to duel. This lesson was thoroughly boring, Snape wishing only to see what level they were at. He yawned and laid his head on the desk. He was so tired…

"Potter! POTTER!"

Harry blinked and raised his head, hearing the Slytherins laughing maliciously.

"If you do not have the respect to stay awake in this class, Potter, then maybe you should not be in it," growled Snape. "You will stay after to repay the time you have missed."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, his heart sinking. Just what he needed, he thought, a bloody detention with Snape, and it was only the second day…

At the end of the lesson he told Hermione and Ron not to wait for him and approached Snape's desk, bag in hand. He heard the door swing shut as the last person left. He stood waiting as Snape wrote something, and it was well over five minutes before he looked up. He paused, looking Harry up and down with a slight sneer on his face.

"Can you tell me why you have bruises all over your chest, Potter?" asked Snape, spitting his name out viciously, as though it made up for the inherent caring that his question implicated.

"I had a fight with my cousin," said Harry automatically, feeling his cheeks flush slightly. Snape scowled but seemed to believe him.

"Muggle fist fights?" he asked with a tone of derision.

"Something like that," Harry muttered.

"Very well," said Snape. "But I will warn you now; this is the last time I will tolerate you wasting your time in my class. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," replied Harry, relieved.

"Good. The Headmaster requires me to continue teaching you Occlumency, and I will not have you slacking off as you do here. Though I doubt you will ever succeed…"

"Actually, I think- I think I might have it," said Harry quickly. Snape raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief.

"Indeed? We shall see then, eight o'clock on Wednesday night, Potter. You may go."

Harry fled from the room as fast as he could without running and hurried to the Great Hall for lunch, his stomach churning with anxiety.

**oOoOo**

Many miles away from Hogwarts, in a large house that seemed dilapidated from the outside but was really quite grand on the inside, Voldemort marked his newest follower. It was policy that the Death Eaters were not made aware of the identity of their fellows, but Severus Snape would recognise that arrogant gait and unctuous voice anywhere. The son of Lucius Malfoy had become a Death Eater, and it appeared he would not be the only one to go through the ritual tonight. If he was not mistaken, that was Theodore Nott, back there, and Pansy Parkinson.

He felt his hope for the young Draco slipping away. He had held a lot of optimism that he would not follow in his father's footsteps, but it seemed he had not been able to overcome the calling. They had had words, many times, on the topic, and Snape knew he had been reluctant, knew he detested his grovelling father, no matter how much he tried to gain his approval. And Snape had understood, because he too had been like that once.

When he had been young, he had done anything and everything to gain his father's approval, and his father's love, but in the end it had all been in vain. He had prayed so hard that Draco would not go the same way, had tried to guide the teen, but now his efforts seemed to have been futile.

He heard Draco utter a strangled sob as the Dark Mark was burned into his arm and their Lord grinned in joy. Snape felt his heart stretch in pity for the misled and confused young man who was his godson and vowed that he would do everything to protect him.

**oOoOo**

Harry woke with a silent gasp and rubbed his scar.

_Malfoy the Death Eater_, he thought disdainfully. He had known it would happen. He swung out of bed and went to the window to watch the sun rise, and less than an hour later he saw Hedwig appear on the horizon, a letter clutched in her talons.

_That was quick_, Harry thought. Remus must be near. Harry opened the window in preparation for Hedwig and took the letter eagerly from her the moment she landed, tearing the scroll open.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Agh! Short, I know. I promise they'll get longer! Please review- Wujjawoo. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed :)**

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

_Dear Harry, _

_I was surprised to get your letter, but I remember this saying well. Do you remember the book I sent you along with the album? Lily used to read it to you all the time, and I believe it was a favourite of the both of you. The saying is, if I am remembering correctly, somewhere in the book. I think I recall seeing it in the album as you mentioned, though I have no idea why she chose to write it there. _

_That's about all I remember, but feel free to write any time you want. _

_Remus. _

Harry dropped the letter and scrambled about in his trunk for the book. _Memoirs of the Loving_, it was called. It didn't seem like a children's book, but he opened it nonetheless. It was faded and battered, but Harry had the feeling that it had indeed been well loved. On the first page was inscribed the title for a second time, and he flipped through the book, seeing that it was a collection of poems and short stories.

He flipped back to the first one, a poem by the name of _My Beloved_. He began to read.

_My Beloved, you are mine, _

_My heart and soul and mind. _

_More than just a lover, _

_Or a fellow known in kind. _

_My Beloved, what could be_

_More perfect than our love?_

_I fear the day when time should see_

_Me watching from above. _

_My Beloved, always true, _

_With you I was content. _

_I still recall, with misery, _

_The day on which you went. _

_My Beloved, it was hard, _

_To watch you let me go. _

_You had no choice, and nor did I,_

_And so the tears did flow. _

_My Beloved, why did you_

_Take the path you chose?_

_Why did you let somebody else_

_Comfort me and hold me close?_

_My Beloved, love is blind, _

_I cared not for the trials_

_That loving you I knew would bring,_

_Rife with loss and guile. _

_My Beloved, you have left_

_More than you could know._

_For in me is another life_

_To cherish and to grow. _

_My Beloved, I will grieve, _

_For what I know will pass._

_And I fear that when you know the truth, _

_It will shatter you like glass. _

_My Beloved, I also know, _

_That love can conquer all, _

_And when all else is said and done, _

_Only those who hate shall fall. _

_My Beloved, to your blood be true, _

_You cannot spurn a name. _

_I have faith beyond all else, _

_And faith cannot be tamed. _

_My Beloved, I never stopped_

_Loving who you were, _

_And even when we both moved on, _

_Your absence never ceased to hurt. _

_My Beloved, I hold hope, _

_That tragedy can be overcome. _

_I hold such love for who you are, _

_Even after what was done. _

_My Beloved, words cannot convey, _

_What my heart tries to express, _

_And I detest what I was forced to do_

_More than you can guess. _

_My Beloved, in the end, _

_I hope that love will win, _

_And you can find it in your heart _

_To forgive my sin. _

_My Beloveds, both of you, _

_Unite in common blood. _

_Find what you have never had,_

_All that's true and good. _

_My Beloved, the father, _

_My Beloved, the son, _

_My Beloved, seek love,_

_My Beloved, don't run. _

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe_.

And then, scrawled in what he could now identify as his mothers script, was a single sentence.

_Rosemary's First is a Charming example of how to find love's hidden meaning_.

Harry frowned. This was getting more and more confusing. Rosemary's First? What did that mean? He wasn't sure what the poem was about, or why it was so significant, and nor did he think it was the kind of poem you would frequently read to a child.

He supposed that 'love's hidden meaning' might refer to some kind of code that revealed a message within the poem, but try as he might he could not find it. With a sigh of frustration, and wondering why his mother would write something like this, he put the book back in his trunk. Maybe, he thought, it was all just a coincidence, and there really was no mystery.

He dressed, and without waiting for Ron and Hermione, headed down to breakfast.

**oOoOo**

Snape woke with a start, sitting up and letting the blankets fall from his shoulders. He frowned, trying to recall what had woken him. And then he remembered. It had been bothering him, that thought of Potter's. The strange riddle that seemed so familiar to him.

And suddenly, sitting there in the darkness of his bedroom, he remembered where it was from, and everything fell into place. It was from a poem, and it had been a favourite of _hers_. That was probably where the boy had heard it. He sighed deeply. He really tried not to think about _that_ any more, and for a while he had almost been successful.

At least he had been, until that infernal line had popped into his head from Potter's.

With a second sigh (he really had to stop doing that. It was just _so_ unbecoming of a Snape and a Potions Master), he climbed out of the warmth of his bed and dressed. On a sudden impulse, and feeling particularly sentimental, he headed for The Box. He wasn't sentimental very often, so The Box rarely came out of the depths of his cupboard. He set the wooden case on his bed and sat next to it, refraining from turning on any lights.

He lifted the lid and dropped his eyes to the contents of The Box. There wasn't much, because he didn't care for soppiness, and there were few things in his life that he cared to remember. The things he did care to remember were contained in this box; at least, reminders of them were.

One by one he pulled the items out. There was a perfume that had once belonged to his mother (he still remembered its fragrance, even without removing the lid), and a brooch that had also belonged to her. The third item had been a gift to him from his father, and to this day he still wasn't sure if he wanted to keep it. His father had been a right old bastard, and the gift represented the one time in Severus' life that he could remember his father showing any sort of caring at all. He placed it a little roughly on the bed, still angry whenever he thought of his father.

The fourth item in the box was a pendant, and Dumbledore had given it to him the day he betrayed Voldemort. Merlin, he _really_ hated sentimentality. Half of the memories in this box weren't even pleasant.

The fifth item was by far the smallest, but possibly the most memorable. He placed the small diamond ring carefully on the bed next to his mother's brooch without looking at it. He had never given it to the person he had intended to, and even though it had been expensive he had not returned it, choosing instead to add it to The Box.

The sixth item was a photo, and ordinary wizard one, and in it he sat with his best friends from his school days. He hated them all now, but the photo reminded him of a time when he had been accepted, and he thought he had even been quite happy.

The seventh item was his graduation certificate. There had been no one there to watch him receive it, but it had been one of the proudest moments of his life. He had done so well. He didn't bother to unroll it though, and placed it gently on the bedspread.

The eighth item was the biggest in The Box, and it was the one he had been searching for. He had cared for it well, but he had read it so many times that it looked much older than it really was. He hadn't read it for a long time though, because after _that_ thing that had happened, he had locked it up in this box of memories.

He reached in both of his hands and pulled out the blue book. It was not big, but it took up nearly the whole base of The Box. He flipped past the first page and on to the poem.

My Beloved.

It had been her favourite, he remembered. He read it.

And of course, at the bottom, was the incomprehensible line that she had written before she gave it to him. He sneered and slammed the book closed, piling everything roughly back in The Box. He slammed the lid closed, felt a swift hint of regret, and piled it back in the cupboard.

Sentimentality, he thought, was a waste of time. He was going to be late for breakfast now. He quickly dressed and stormed up to the Great Hall, fuming at himself for giving in to the temptation. But honestly! The fool of a woman had never told him what she meant by 'Under mine heart lies yours. When the moonwort blooms, you shall find answers at the place of my delight.' Whatever silly notion she had had in her mind, it was long past being uncovered. He had far better things to do than play riddles.

**oOoOo**

"Harry, come one, you're going to be late!" pleaded Hermione, tugging on his arm. Harry groaned and pulled himself up from the comfortable couch.

"Does it really matter?" he asked.

"Of course it does," sniped Hermione. "Now go on, or you'll get a detention."

Heeding her advice with more than a little resentment, Harry left the common room and headed for Snape's office. _Wednesday nights, eight o'clock_.

Well, at least if he could show Snape that he could do Occlumency now he'd be able to leave. He presented himself in the dungeon office promptly at eight o'clock and knocked. A sharp command came from within and Harry obeyed, entering and shutting the door behind him.

"Sit," said Snape, pointing to a chair with a scowl on his face. Harry sat abruptly, his back straight and rigid. "So you believe you have mastered Occlumency?" Snape sneered, his tone one of blatant disbelief.

"Not mastered," said Harry, "but I think I've got the idea now."

"I should think," sneered Snape, "that after two years, it is about time."

Harry refrained from retorting to the insult. Snape folded his arm, looking down his nose at Harry, who tried his hardest not to fidget.

"Very well," said Snape. "You know the procedure."

Harry leapt to his feet and forced the calm, pattering rain and darkness of his cupboard to his mind. Snape looked into his eyes, and Harry felt the probing tendril of Snape's mind in his own. Snape's brows crept together in a frown, but Harry thought he saw a flash of triumph there. Harry felt a jolt of victory, but as soon as he did, Snape followed it and forced his way through the crack it had created in Harry's mind. And suddenly the memories were there again, and try as he might he couldn't recall the quiet darkness of his cupboard.

He felt his knees buckling with the energy he was putting into the exercise, but he forced himself to stay on his feet. And then suddenly a memory of the cupboard under the stairs flashed across his mind and Harry latched onto it, calling more of them forward. He imagined opening the door, stepping inside, and closing it behind him. And to his surprise, it worked. The moment the door closed, it was as though he had slammed the door on his mind, and he forced Snape from his mind.

He blinked and looked at Snape standing before him.

"So did I get it?" he asked, fighting the urge to grin. If he did, he was sure Snape would just sneer at him. Instead, he kept his face calm, and Snape stared at him before answering slowly.

"In a manner of speaking," he said eventually, looking as though he was thinking hard. "You are not so much blocking your mind from me, as hiding the way in. That is why I was able to break in when you felt emotion. And it is- unusual…how you use one memory to hide the others."

Harry shrugged.

"I discovered it over the holidays. I just found one day that it was really peaceful and quiet, and when I thought of it, it was like there was nothing else there."

Snape nodded sharply.

"Then you have made progress. We will continue building on this until you can perform it properly." He sneered slightly as if to degrade Harry's performance, even though it was the best he had achieved. "I will perform the spell again. This time try to think of the contents of the memory as a wall. I suppose it was a good done to choose. Blackness will be hard to find a crack in."

Harry nodded, and barely had time to call the darkness to his mind before he felt Snape digging. He did as Snape had instructed, imaging the blackness to be impenetrable, and the noise of the rain to be confusing. But then he confused himself, and Snape broke through the barrier, rifling freely through his thoughts. Harry tried to regain control, but he could not call to mind the image of the cupboard and he felt his knees hit the floor.

"Stand up," spat Snape. "Did you not listen to what I told you?" he asked. Harry stood, glaring.

"Yes, I did. I just couldn't do it!"

Snape sneered.

"No less than I expected," he mocked. "Again."

And so it went on, but Harry found Snape breaking into his mind again and again, and he could not stop it. The lesson ended and he left with a sigh.

"Oh look, it's Potter," came a voice as he turned the corner. He looked up to see Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle by his side.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy," grumbled Harry, pushing past the unmoving bulk of Crabbe.

"Running away?" sneered Malfoy. Harry refused to rise to the bait and continued walking. The confrontations had become common over the last two years, and Harry had found that the best way to deal with them was to simply walk away. There was a shuffle of fabric and Harry felt himself being drawn backwards against his will. He swung around in anger and saw Malfoy sauntering towards him arrogantly.

_Of course_, thought Harry. He would be all confident now.

"I'll thank you not to use your wand against me when my back's turned," said Harry quietly. The three of them laugh.

"Well you were running away. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Let me," said Harry sarcastically. Malfoy smirked.

"But that's no fun. You _always_ run. Did you run from the Dark Lord when he caught you?" asked Malfoy bravely. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," he said truthfully. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly and Malfoy grinned as though he were _so_ much better than Harry.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be _brave_," Malfoy sneered. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose. But I would rather run from Voldemort than spend my life grovelling before him."

Harry watched with satisfaction as identical blotches appeared in Malfoy's pale cheeks.

"And what would you know about that, Potter?" he asked smoothly. Harry could see how hard he was gripping his wand and smiled to himself. He took a step forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"I know," he whispered, "that someone took the Dark Mark last night."

He leaned back and watched as Malfoy's face drained of ay colour it might have had.

"If you think I did then you don't know what you're talking about," he said haughtily, taking a defensive pace backwards. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy, you've been walking around all day with this pleased little smirk on your face and half the Slytherins have been worshipping the ground you walk."

Malfoy sneered.

"If you choose to base your assumption on the fact that my house mates respect me, then you're even more stupid than I thought you were."

"Please, Malfoy. There's a distinct line between respect and fear. I'm sure you understand. Did you fear what your Dark Lord would do if you didn't take the mark, or did you take it because you respected him?"

Malfoy flinched and Harry smirked.

"I thought so."

"You're pathetic!" sneered Malfoy.

"Really?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow. "I thought the way you whimpered when the Mark burned into your skin was rather pathetic."

Malfoy's eyes widened, but he regained his complacency and sneered.

"Quite an elaborate fantasy you've built up there isn't it?"

Harry was quickly tiring of this whole charade and began to walk away.

"Turn and face me, Potter! You cannot walk away now!" yelled Malfoy. Harry felt his shoulder sting as a curse struck him, and he swung around in anger. He stormed up to the Slytherin and stuck his face in front of Malfoy's.

"You forget," he hissed, "that I have access to Voldemort's mind." Malfoy's eyes flicked to the scar. "That's right. And last night I looked down on your face as you held out your arm and I _saw _the fear in them. You are a coward, Draco, nothing more. You didn't even have enough strength to stand up to your own father and tell him you didn't want it." Harry stepped back. "_You_ are the pathetic one, Draco."

Harry paused, and in that moment Snape came up behind his Slytherins and placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"_What_," he enunciated, "is going on here?" Harry stared coldly at Malfoy.

"Malfoy decided he wanted to have a fight and I put him in his place. Isn't that right?" asked Harry, directing the question at Malfoy. Slowly, Malfoy nodded, his expression one of humiliation. Snape looked down on him in surprise.

"What did he say to you?" he asked, and Harry heard a tinge of softness there. He knew Malfoy was Snape's godson, everyone did, but he had never seen the fact displayed like this before.

Malfoy glared at Harry triumphantly, his loss already forgotten as Snape came to his aid.

"Potter thinks I've taken the Dark Mark," he said arrogantly, as if he would never think of doing such a thing. Snape's gaze shot to Harry.

"Return to my office," he growled at Harry, his voice trembling in anger. Harry didn't move.

"I don't think I will, if it's all the same to you. After all, Malfoy's the one that hexed me; he's the one you should be punishing."

Snape stepped around Malfoy and forcefully grabbed Harry's shoulder, pushing him into the nearest class room. Harry pulled out of his grasp, anger playing across his face as Snape warded the room.

"Why did you say that to Mr Malfoy?" asked Snape in a low voice.

"Because it's the truth," Harry spat. "He wouldn't let me go, taunting me and insulting me. He just about asked me to tell him what I knew."

"And how did you know?" asked Snape slowly, dangerously.

"Because I saw it."

Snape stood back, cursing under his breath.

"Even your insufficient progress at Occlumency should have rendered you able to fight of a _dream_," sneered Snape.

Harry sighed, leaning against the wall.

"Occlumency doesn't stop the dreams. It never has and I doubt it's going to. It only stops my scar from hurting, and it stops Voldemort from knowing I'm there," he said. Snape blinked and leaned back, running a finger over his lips.

"That could be…"

"Advantageous, yes," said Harry. "If I could learn Legilimency I might be able to go into his mind and find things out."

"Foolish boy," spat Snape. "I will not be teaching you Legilimency. Get out, and if I _ever _hear of you talking about such things again, you will have more to worry about than a detention."

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Did you like the poem? I got a bit bored with it toward the end, but I think I got everything in there that I needed. I suppose the poem in itself isn't really important, so don't bother trying to find any hidden meanings. Some of you might be able to see where this is going; I think it's fairly obvious, but if you can't see it don't worry. All will become clear in time. Also, the story is not going to be focussed on Harry solving the riddles! It's mostly about the part after, but I can't tell you what that is yet :) At this stage, I don't think this story will be longer than about fifteen chapters, so it's quite short. Reviews and suggestions are appreciated, so please review. But most of all, remember to enjoy! Read my other stories, HP and the Strength of White, HP and the Soul of Slytherin, HP and the Heir of Voldmeort, and the one I'm currently working on, HP and the Curse of V'Ardian- Wujjawoo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed :) And I would like to add, before I forget, that as Harry is of age he can apparate. **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

The day after Azkaban was taken over by Lord Voldemort, Harry went to see Dumbledore. As he made his way up the golden staircase he convinced himself that he wasn't going to leave without getting his way.

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore, before Harry even knocked. Harry entered to see the sprightly Headmaster avidly sucking a Muggle sweet and threading beads onto a piece of fishing line. As Harry sat he banished them with a wave of the hand.

"How are you on this fine evening, Harry?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "Have you come about the dates of the Quidditch tournament?"

"No," said Harry, wondering why he would bother the headmaster with something like that. "Actually it's a bit more serious."

"Indeed," murmured Dumbledore, leaning forward attentively and pasting an appropriately serious expression on his face. Harry felt his attitude was rather condescending. He took a deep breath and got straight to the point.

"I'd like to join the Order."

Dumbledore straightened in alarm and looked down at him with his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Now, Harry, this is not something to be entered into lightly. You are still at school. There would be nothing practical you would be able to do for us."

Harry blinked, feeling quite offended.

"Sir, I'm seventeen. I'm of age. And I could help the Order if you let me."

"Harry, I couldn't let you participate in raids or defend in the event of an attack, it would be far too dangerous for you."

Harry frowned in consternation. This was not what he wanted to hear. Did Dumbledore think he was completely useless?

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm not a child anymore, and if need be I will act against Voldemort by myself. The fact that I would rather work alongside the Order is the only reason I'm asking you now."

Dumbledore stared at him sharply, scrutinizing him. He murmured something under his breath, thinking.

"Do you still have visions of Voldemort, Harry?" asked Dumbledore finally.

"Yes," said Harry forthrightly. "But he doesn't know I'm there. The Occlumency stops him becoming aware of my presence. Don't you see how useful that could be?" Harry said almost pleadingly. "I could find out about attacks before they happen. I would be able to see where they were if-"

Dumbledore held up a hand, halting him.

"I see that you will not be dissuaded," he said quietly. "If you insist, then I will let you join the Order."

"Really?" Harry asked, stunned. Dumbledore's abrupt change of heart left him confused. Dumbledore smiled slightly.

"Yes, Harry." He reached into the top draw of his desk and pulled out a phoenix pendant attached to a plain black cord and handed it across that table to Harry. "This is worn by all Order members, Harry. It will alert you if there is an attack. You can apparate, correct?" Harry nodded. "Good. All you need to do is hold the pendant and apparate, and it will take you where you need to go. In the case that you may not be able to use your pendant, or you are not at the sight of the attack, you can communicate using a variation of your Patronus."

"A variation? I've seen it, but…"

"Don't worry, Harry. I shall show you the correct incantation."

Harry marvelled at how quickly it had all gone as Dumbledore explained what he needed to know. He left Dumbledore's office feeling better than he had in a long time.

He paused on his way back to Gryffindor tower, gazing up at the full moon and wondering where Remus was.

**oOoOo**

After thoroughly berating himself for so foolishly giving into the whim that the riddle had implanted in him to solve it, Snape found himself sitting at a table in the library on the night of the full moon. Upon reflecting on it, the simple sentence had not been hard to unravel. Moonwort bloomed only on the full moon, and after consideration he had decided that the location he needed to be at was this table in an alcove at the back of the library.

He had often come here with _her_, out of view of prying eyes, and he remembered that she had loved to be in the library. An older version of Granger, he sneered. But no, that was wrong. _She _had been much nicer, and _far_ less nosy.

He looked up at the tiny stained glass window high on the wall. The moon could not yet be seen. He assumed he had to wait for it to be visible; after all, what else should he have come here for? If there was any meaning to the riddle whatsoever, he would find it when the moon's light penetrated the small window.

He didn't have to wait long. After fifteen minutes the first beam of light fell into the room, and it was surprisingly bright. A single streak pushed through the clear hole in the centre of the window and lit a small area on the far side of the room. He stood rapidly and strode over to the bright spot on the shelf.

There seemed to be nothing special about it; it was a dusty disused wooden bookshelf and nothing more, but upon closer inspection he saw a fine crack running along the back of it.

"Hmm," he murmured, reaching out to slide his fingernails into it. He pulled lightly and the wood came away, revealing a hidden compartment with a single scrap of parchment in it. With more than a little curiosity he retrieved it and unfolded it. It had evidently been hidden away for many years; it was yellow and dry, and cracked when he unfolded it.

"Lumos," he muttered, and the writing upon it was illuminated.

_In all the world, Potions is the only art that requires logic _and_ passion – S.S. _

He stared at it with dawning comprehension. SS, he realised, did not stand for Severus Snape, but for Selina Severin, an esteemed Potions Mistress of whom the two of them had spent many long hours discussing. Her statue was a long way away from the library, and he was about to set off for it when he felt the Dark Mark burn.

He swore under his breath and headed instead for his room, and then out into the night.

**oOoOo**

"Filipius," Harry murmured, and the feather on the table before him began to follow the movements of his wand.

"Aw, how did you get it so easily?" moaned Ron, who was having no luck with his.

"You're _flicking_, Ron," tutted Hermione. "It's more of a smooth swoop."

"A swoop?" Ron asked.

"Yes, Ron," sighed Hermione. "A swoop." Her feather danced around his head.

Harry laughed and pulled out his essay to add a few last-minute thoughts.

"Why didn't you finish that last night?" asked Ron, abandoning his uncooperative feather with a glare from Hermione. Harry shrugged.

"I was a bit tired after you-know-what," he muttered, concentrating on his essay. He scribbled out a whole line and replaced it with a new one. He was concentrating so hard he didn't know the class was over until Ron tugged him on the arm.

"You wanna stay here all day?" he asked.

"No," muttered Harry, shoving his belongings into this bag. He followed them out of the Charms classroom and into the hall, and as he did so a statue caught his eye. He stopped abruptly, and hurried over to it.

"Harry- what are you doing?" asked Hermione as the two of them came up behind him. He didn't answer them, and instead looked at the statue of the woman whom the plaque said was Rosemary Redding. Hermione began a long-winded speech about her, but Harry didn't listen. Rosemary Redding had made great advances in the field of Charms, apparently, and suddenly the riddle began to make sense. It seemed entirely likely that this was the Rosemary he was looking for.

He reached up to brush away the dust from the engraved quote above her head and read it.

"_Reveal to me the nature of magic and I shall want for nothing,"_ it read.

And suddenly it was so _clear_. It was so simple he didn't know why he hadn't tried it in the first place. Rosemary's First, he realised, referred to the first of the words from her own quote.

_Reveal_.

And Charming- it referred not only to Rosemary's prowess at Charms, but to what he needed to do to find the hidden meaning in the poem. _Reveal_ was a charm that would find love's hidden meaning. Some kind of revealing charm, then.

With a grin at the thrill of the adventure, he set off down the corridor, unaware of Ron and Hermione's dubious glances behind his back.

Later that night, Harry pulled the book from his trunk and pulled the curtains tightly around his bed. He opened the book to the poem, _My Beloved_.

"Revelios," he muttered, tapping his wand to the page. At first he was surprised when the words began to shimmer; he had thought his mother would have chosen a harder spell. Perhaps, he thought, solving the riddle had been enough. The words on the page shimmered and disappeared, to be replaced by a much shorter passage in his mother's script. He read it with mounting excitement and a thumping heart.

_HJP if this is you, read my words and find them true. _

_In the odds my time should pass, I could not leave the truth to chance. _

_Only trust, I do not lie, and coincidence is far from right. _

_Go to where my blood does dwell, ask her of the truth to tell. _

_She will point you where to go, if one other should fail to show. _

Harry stared in mounting anxiety at the words. He had to go to where his mother's blood dwelled…a perfectly innocent reference to the Dursleys. It made sense, though. If anyone knew something of his mother's secret it would be her sister.

He wondered what the truth was, the truth that seemed so important. And as to coincidence…well, he hadn't believed in coincidence in a long time. And as many of the clues had been specific to him, it was hard to believe that it _was _a coincidence.

But who was the 'one other' that his mother referred to? He copied down the message and cancelled the charm on the page, reverting it to normal. As he returned the book to his trunk, he realised how dearly he wanted to know what the secret at the heart of these riddles was. What was so important that his mother must leave a message in case of her death, and that she could not have told anyone else?

**oOoOo**

"Professor, I need to go back to the Dursley's," said Harry, looking apologetically at the Headmaster. Dumbledore looked up in surprise, prompting Harry to go on. "It's just, I think I've forgotten something that I left there, and it's really important."

Dumbledore banished the letter he had been writing and stood up, barely glancing at Harry. He went to the old cupboard against the wall and retrieved his Pensieve.

Only when he had seated himself and added a memory to the swirling silveriness did he finally answer Harry.

"Must you go tonight?" asked Dumbledore. Harry was slightly taken aback at his accusing tone.

"No, of course not! Sooner is better, but I can wait until someone is free," he said, wondering why he had so much trouble communicating with Dumbledore lately. Maybe, he thought, it was because Dumbledore couldn't peer into his thoughts so easily anymore. Dumbledore nodded.

"I see. Well, tonight is not such a good time. Most everyone is at work or busy with tasks for the Order. However, if this is so important to you, I will see what I can arrange. I will have someone take you within the next week."

"Thankyou," said Harry, and stood up to leave.

"You are still carrying your Cloak with you?" Dumbledore asked as he reached the door.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, though he wondered if it was really necessary. He had carried it with him all through fifth and sixth year and not needed it once.

**oOoOo**

"-and now my father's free," Harry heard Malfoy whisper to his friends. Harry sneered. Malfoy was going to get caught one day, and it would be no one's fault but his own.

Harry hated the fact that Voldemort had gained control of Azkaban. Countless Death Eaters had been freed, and the Ministry had been powerless. For a reason unbeknownst to Harry, Fudge was still in office, and although he was now actively opposing Voldemort, he was doing a poor job. Surely there were other candidates that would do a better job?

"Hey Harry, can I see your essay? I finished mine but it's not long enough…"

"Sure," Harry said, passing his essay on defensive shields to Ron.

"Detention for cheating, Potter," said Snape, sweeping into the room. Harry's gritted his teeth in chagrin.

"Git," muttered Ron, surreptitiously passing Harry's essay back after taking a prolonged look.

"Doesn't matter," replied Harry.

"Quiet," snapped Snape, and there was no longer chance for conversation as the lesson began.

**oOoOo**

Harry knocked wearily on the door of Snape's office, his bag slung over his shoulder. At Snape's answer he stepped in, and upon seeing him Snape's rose to his feet and pulled his wand from his pocket. He stepped around the desk and held a quill out to Harry. Startled, and acting out of reflex, Harry grabbed the quill to take it, but Snape didn't let go. Instead he tapped his wand on the quill, there was a lurch behind Harry's navel, and they disappeared in a whirl of colours.

Harry's feet hit the ground with a thump and he stumbled forward as he tried to remain upright. He regained his balance and looked around to consider his surroundings.

"You could have warned me," he said shortly, taking in the neat locality that was Privet Drive.

"You have five minutes," snarled Snape, "to get what you need. I have better things to do than baby-sit _you_."

"You didn't have to come," shot back Harry, affronted by Snape's rude tone.

"Yes, well, the Headmaster made sure I understood how _important_ this was, and I was the only Order member without pressing engagements…"

He looked away from Harry and down the street, staring disdainfully at the identical houses lining the road.

"Well?" he asked after a moment of silence. "Which is yours?" He watched as Harry pulled something out of his bag and shoved it at him, and he took in the sight of the silvery material with a hint of incredulity.

"Put it on," said Harry, and Snape took it purely out of surprise. He sneered and held it back.

"I see no need," he said. Harry sneered right back at him.

"If you insist on not wearing it, then I will have to insist you stay here. My relatives do not take kindly to wizards appearing on their doorstep."

Without waiting for Snape to answer, Harry transfigured his robes into a plain Muggle shirt and jeans and marched resolutely up to the front door of Privet Drive and knocked.

"Dudley, get the door," Harry heard his uncle bellow from within. A few moments passed, but then Harry heard the _thump-thump _of someone descending the stairs and the door swung open.

"Who is it, Dudders?" yelled someone, and Harry identified the voice as Aunt Marge's.

"It's _him_," Dudley spat, an ugly scowl marring his features. "What are you doing here, freak?" he asked, his massive body blocking the doorway. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cursing, and his clumping footsteps as he came to join his son at the door. Harry sincerely hoped that Snape had chosen to remain back on the street.

"I came to see Aunt Petunia," said Harry. "I left something important here and I need to collect it."

A gleeful grin split Dudley's face.

"Dad's going to be _thrilled_ to see you."

**oOoOo**

A gleeful grin split the obese teenager's face.

"Dad's going to be _thrilled _to see you."

Snape sneered. If this took longer then ten minutes, he _would _reveal himself, whether it was against Potter's wishes or not. He would not stand to watch the boy's relatives fawning over him in such a sickening manner.

As a result of his reluctance, he barely managed to slip in the door before it was closed, rather brusquely, he thought, behind Potter. After only a few minutes though, Snape severely regretted not having stayed out side. In just a few short moments, any illusions Snape had held about the boy's life with the Muggles were completely shattered, and though he felt a stab of malignant triumph that the last Potter had _not_ led the privileged life he'd previously supposed, he felt foolish for all the times he had commented otherwise.

After all those times he had called Potter 'spoilt' and 'ungrateful', the boy had probably gone off and had a good laugh at his expense, and told his little friends about how stupid Snape was. The conniving, pretentious brat.

**oOoOo**

Harry stood wearily before his there giant relatives, feeling severely out-numbered and tiny. Tonight had _not _been a good night to intrude on his relatives peaceful lives. Harry thought that Uncle Vernon might have just managed not to have an aneurism as he ushered his important business guests out the door, a vein throbbing painfully fast in his temple as he apologised about his delinquent nephew from St. Brutus'.

Dudley sauntered slowly around Harry, a hearty cuff to the shoulder sending him a step to the side. It wasn't difficult to see that Dudley was thoroughly enjoying himself at Harry's expense.

"_Explain yourself_," hissed Uncle Vernon.

"I need to see Aunt Petunia," Harry said curtly, infinitely glad that Snape was still out on the street. Well, hopefully. Aunt Marge stepped forward, an unpleasant frown on her ugly features. She reached out and tugged at the collar of the new-looking shirt he wore.

"Where'd you get that, eh?" she jibed, flicking it in a bullying manner. Harry glared at her. "_We_ certainly didn't give you anything like that. Stole it, did you?"

Harry ignored her and leaned sideways, trying to see past her wide girth and into the further rooms.

"_Explain_," hissed Uncle Vernon again, clearly not pleased at Harry's lack of reply. "Do you have any idea how important that meeting was for me? An important business dinner that was…"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon, but I really don't have time. My teacher is waiting outside to take me back and he isn't a very patient man. If I could just see Aunt Petunia-"

"Your _what_?" growled Uncle Vernon.

"My teacher," Harry repeated softly, trying hard to keep any inflection out of his voice. It would not do to upset Uncle Vernon any further, but a moment after thinking that he realised that the man's rage was rapidly growing.

"You brought a teacher from that _freak_ school of your's _here_? And left him outside?" Suddenly Uncle Vernon lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and thrust him up against the wall. "What the hell do you think the neighbours will say?"

"Let me down, Uncle Vernon," said Harry icily, trying to speak forcefully even though the chubby hands were pressing into his wind pipe.

"You think I want freaks prancing around in dresses outside my house? Why are you back here, boy?" he demanded. "They said we would _never _see you again."

"Let me down," Harry spat, understanding that being polite would not work. "I should let you know that I'm of age now. That means I can legally use magic outside of my _freak _school."

"Don't you dare use that word _here_," snapped Uncle Vernon, though he dropped Harry to the floor and stepped back. There was a moment of silence as they glared at each other, mutual dislike mirrored on their faces. Then-

"Vernon? What's going on?" Aunt Petunia entered the room and stopped short when she saw Harry. A look of distaste flitted across her face. "Why are you here?"

Harry gave her a wide smile.

"How are you, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, satisfied to see their faces as they were thrown by his abrupt change in mood. Aunt Petunia glared, her eyes flicking past him to the stained glass insets in the door.

"Come away from the windows," she snapped.

"Of course," agreed Harry, moving through to the kitchen. "We wouldn't want the neighbours to see."

The Dursley's followed him, crowding around the small table. There wasn't much room.

"Now what do you want?" snapped Uncle Vernon. "I won't have any of your ruddy games, boy, so you just tell us hat you need and then get the hell out!"

"May I speak to Aunt Petunia alone?" asked Harry. Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to speak but Aunt Marge leapt in.

"We're bloody well not leaving her alone with you, freak. I won't have you practicing any of your voodoo witchcraft on my sister-in-law."

"Damn right," grunted Uncle Vernon gruffly.

"Fine," muttered Harry. The hard way or the highway, he guessed. He looked his Aunt directly in the eye. "I want to know if you have anything that belonged to my mother."

Aunt Petunia blanched and began trembling.

"Why?" she asked, her voice rising in her defensiveness.

"I really don't expect that you actually _want _them," said Harry sarcastically. "And as I at least think of my mother with fondness, I would like something of hers to remember her by."

Suddenly Dudley gave an angry roar and launched himself at Harry, with surprising agility considering his size. His fist caught Harry on the chin and knocked him to the floor. Harry sprang to his feet, preparing to defend himself, but found there was no need. Dudley stood glowering at him a few feet away, Aunt Petunia resting a restraining hand on his arm.

"All the junk was moved into your room after you left. Anything you want you can find there. Get it and leave," she said coldly.

_Junk_, thought Harry. She was calling her only sister's belongings _junk_. He turned from them and walked to his room, the cupboard under the stairs. There was a lock on the door, and Harry pulled out his wand and muttered a spell, not wishing to raise their ire any further. Not a wise move. A hand clamped around the back of his neck and propelled him forward, smashing him up against the wood.

"You will _not _do that in my house," hissed Uncle Vernon. He pulled Harry away from the door long enough to open it and shoved him inside. The door slammed behind him, leaving Harry in blackness. He let out a silent sigh as he reached for the light switch. Flicked it. Wondered how long it would be before Snape came looking for him. Flicked it again. Nothing. _Lumos_.

Aunt Petunia had indeed move all the junk down here after he left, probably the very next day. Old furniture and Dudley's broken toys lay in neat piles around the rooms. Nothing he could see might have belonged to his mother. But there must be something here, or Aunt Petunia would have thrown him straight out.

He shone his light around, instantly dismissing piles that obviously held nothing of his mother's. He began heaving broken toys and boxes out of his way, sweating as the dusty air dried his throat. Finally, at the bottom of a pile near the corner, he found a small wooden chest that he had never known the Dursley's owned. He reached out and lifted the lid, and inside he found a handful of objects that had obviously been given to Aunt Petunia by his mother. Knowing he had little time left, he softly closed the lid and shrank the chest, slipping it into his pocket. He doused the light on his wand and stepped out into the much brighter hallway, blinking as he got his bearings.

Uncle Vernon emerged from the doorway to the kitchen, an arm pointing at the door.

"Never come here again," he hissed, his tone hateful and threatening. Harry nodded. He went to the door, surreptitiously casting a healing charm at his bruised neck and jaw. He opened it and stepped out onto the porch, Uncle Vernon slamming the door as soon as he was there. He felt a stab of horror when he realised he could not see Snape, but as he walked towards where they had arrived Snape pulled the Cloak off himself, appearing in the same spot Harry had left him. He tried not to show his relief too much. Wordlessly Snape held out the quill, tapped it with his wand, and they appeared back in his office.

"I trust you got what you needed?" Snape asked snidely.

"Yes. Thankyou," he said. He was sure Snape would not appreciate the thanks. He turned to go, and had opened the door, when Snape spoke.

"What is…St. Brutus'?"

Harry froze. He shut the door slowly and turned around.

"I thought you waited outside."

Snape sneered.

"Obviously I did not," he said. Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks against his will.

"St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys," said Harry, somewhat defensively, "Is the school that the Dursley's neighbours believe I attend."

Snape stared, and Harry felt his cheeks flaming.

"Were you there the whole time?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Snape. Harry was dismayed. Snape continued. "The injuries you received at the beginning of the year- they were not just from your cousin, were they?"

Harry glared reproachfully at the calm Potions Master, who did not care for him in the slightest. He turned from the dark man and left without answering. There was no need for an answer, because Snape already knew.

There was no need to ask for is silence, because Snape did not care.

**oOoOo**

_Prancing around in dresses indeed_, seethed Snape, as he headed for the statue of Serina Severin near the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. He stalked through the darkened and damp halls, fuming. He forced himself to be calm. He really hadn't been put out that much by taking the boy to his relatives- it was just the fact that it was _that_ boy. Surely there were others that would rather take the responsibility for him.

He cast the evening's events from his mind as he turned to face that statue of the young Potions Mistress. He stood before it, wand clasped in his hand as he ran his finger over his lips. His gaze ran over the words inscribed above her head.

_In all the world, Potions is the only art that requires logic _and _passion_.

He ran his finger over the statue, searching for a crack, or something that might reveal what he was supposed to do.

"Revelios," he murmured, tapping the statue sharply with his wand. Nothing happened. He scowled. If this was some kind of joke…

But no, Snape knew she would never do that. He scowled at the unyielding wall in irritation. He murmured another revealing spell, but still there was nothing. A password then, he mused. Some kind of word that activated something. He cleared his throat.

"Lily," he said firmly. Still there was nothing. He tapped his chin impatiently with his wand, and as he did so, a peculiar thought came to him. He remembered it from his school days, when his and Lily's friendship had been a secret. If they wanted to meet, one would place a certain word on the notice board, and over the years, Snape had come to associate that word with secrets. And if what he was searching for now was not a secret, he didn't know what was.

It was a simple word, one that would not raise suspicion if seen. Lily had not wanted it, had said their friendship should not be a secret, but Snape had insisted. After all, he had a reputation to maintain. He had his family's honour to uphold. He had his dignity and pride to defend. Associating with a Mudblood would have ruined all of that.

Oh, he had been _so_ stupid, and it had ruined it all.

He raised his wand and murmured the secret word. _Their_ word.

That statue spoke.

"Hello, Severus," it said, and it was Lily's voice. Snape fought against the lump forming in his throat.

"Lily?" he questioned. The statue seemed to smile, and he waited for it to speak again.

"Severus," is (_she_) said again. "I always missed you."

Snape's heart thumped painfully in his chest, and a feeling of light-headedness consumed him. He had never fainted before, but he was feeling suspiciously close to doing so. Hearing the dead speak again was always a shock, he decided.

And then the statue told him the biggest secret of all. Bigger than there secret meetings during their school days, and bigger than what had happened after.

It told him the whole, shocking truth.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: I seem to have jumped ahead more than I was planning, but I think it's for the best. Like I said previously, this is more of an introduction to what the story is really about. Please review- Wujjawoo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed :) **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

As soon as Harry was back in his dormitory he returned the chest to its original size and flung open the lid. For a moment he just stared down at the contents in surprised consternation, unable to comprehend what this meant. There was nothing in the chest; nothing at all, save for a small inscription on the underside of the lid and a small locket. Where had the other things gone? He was sure that there had been more when he looked back at Privet Drive.

Frowning slightly, Harry reached into the chest and pulled out the locket. It was small, about a centimetre in diameter, and it flicked open at Harry's touch. The silver was tarnished; obviously not magical, and Harry held no illusions about how much it had been cared for. Inside it sat two photos; one of his mother and one of his Aunt. Both of them were smiling and happy, and Harry reflected that the luminous smile on Aunt Petunia's face was one he had rarely seen in real life.

Harry began to feel concerned though. Had he found the right things? There seemed to be nothing about this ordinary locket that could contain a clue. But surely it must, if it was the only thing in the box? He searched his pocket again, but it was empty. Wherever the other objects from the box had gone, they weren't important.

He turned his focus back to the locket and, feeling as though he were desecrating something sacred, removed the photo of his mother from the locket. As he did so, a small slip of parchment fell from it. He picked it up with trembling fingers, squinting at the minute writing that looked to be nothing more than a black smudge.

"Engorgio," Harry incanted, and the slip of parchment swelled to a readable size.

_In loneliness, silence reigns, but in company a snapshot of happiness will make things clear. _

The thoughts connected themselves in Harry's mind, and he marvelled at the simplicity, yet complexity of his mother's clues. Without the photo album _and_ the poem, completing the puzzle would have been impossible. Snapshot…Muggle for photograph…and he knew exactly which one. He lurched forward in excitement and anticipation and drew the album from his trunk. He flicked through the pages and came to the one of his mother, sitting alone in a chair. He watched as she looked up and, seeing someone, smiled and mouthed their name. He eased the photograph from its holding and flipped it over, pleased to see the words inscribed on the back of it.

_A pensive moment would do you well. To find food for thought, go where only Gryffindors may dwell. _

Harry jumped up from the bed. Where only Gryffindors may dwell? Well, that was obviously the Gryffindor common room, but… he frowned. Gryffindor tower was by no means small. A pensive moment- memories? Food for thought, also a reference to memories. So his mother had hidden memories, her memories, somewhere in Gryffindor tower. He only had to find the location.

**oOoOo**

Snape laid his head in his hands, mortified. It was not _possible_, he thought. It was simply not. The claim was outrageous! Impossible and completely unjustified. It was a joke, he decided. It must be.

With a stab of resolve, Snape looked down at the letter that had been sitting on his desk for the past three days. He moved it aside and picked up his eagle-feather quill, scanning the forms that he had already filled out. The only blank space left was the one that required his signature.

His hand hovered in indecision over the dotted line, but he recalled the words of the statue and his resolution was confirmed. He placed the tip of the quill and signed his name in his usual impeccable and precise script. The only sound in the room was the scratch of the quill on the parchment as his motions sealed his future.

**oOoOo**

Harry trudged through the halls for hours that night, racking his mind for something he had missed, something that would give away the hiding place of his mother's memories. He had searched the whole common room that evening, oblivious to the questioning glances of fellow students, and had found nothing. Doubt began to creep in as he mounted the final set of stair before reaching Gryffindor tower. Maybe there _was_ nothing. Maybe it had all been a sham, a joke.

No… it was too late to believe that now.

Harry scuffed his feet along the floor, stopping before the portrait of the Fat Lady and muttering the password.

"Who's there?" she squawked. "Show yourself!"

Harry sighed and removed his Invisibility Cloak; he would be stuck out here all night otherwise. The Fat Lady let out a decidedly unladylike snort when she saw him.

"Of course it would be you!" she said, as she did every time he turned up after curfew. "Just like your father you are! He used to come back here at all hours, with those friends of his. You're much quieter, though."

"Er…" he was about to say that that was all very nice, but could she please let him in, but she seemed to be in a chatting mood, and spoke right over the top of him.

"Much like your mother," she mused. "You know, one night I was just about to go to sleep when they…"

But Harry wasn't listening. He had just realised, as he listened to the Fat Lady's words, that there was one part of Gryffindor tower that he had not yet searched.

"Excuse me," he said loudly, talking over her monologue, "but did you know my mother?"

"What?" Oh, yes, of course. I remember her quite well." The Fat Lady leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. "But I'm not supposed to talk about her, especially not to you!"

"Who said that?" asked Harry sharply, folding his arms across his chest.

"Lily!" said the Fat Lady, her eyes wide in anticipation.

"Did she give you anything?" Harry asked quickly. "A vial or something?"

The Fat Lady beamed and sat back, clapping her hands in excitement. She giggled, and gave him a sly smile.

"You know I wondered when you might come to see me," she said. "I wasn't allowed to say anything- she made me promise that I would wait for you to work it out, whatever that means."

"So you have something?" prompted Harry eagerly. The Fat Lady gave a long-suffering sigh and her hand went to a chain around her neck, hidden by the plentiful adornments there. She tugged on it, withdrawing a small crystal vial from her ample bosom. She thrust it heartily towards him, and Harry could see a small amount of swirling silver at the bottom of it.

"There you go, dear."

Harry reached out with trembling fingers and his hand seemed to slide into the painting. The vial seemed to jump forward to meet him, and for a moment it seemed as though the vial and his hand were in their own dimension that was neither painting nor reality. He closed his hand around it and withdrew, finding it smooth and icy cold.

"Thanks," he breathed, staring in awe at the contents of the vial. These were memories…his mother's memories.

"Oh, and one last thing," said the Fat Lady, leaning forward again and speaking in a hushed whisper. She tapped the side of her nose with her finger. "Lily said to let you know that this was the last step, and that you won't be able to see until you believe."

If the Fat Lady thought that this was strange, she gave no sign. The portrait swung forward and Harry ran up the staircase to his dormitory. He drew the curtains around his bed so as not to disturb his sleeping school-mates and lit his wand. He uncorked the lid from the vial and tipped the contents onto the palm of his hand. He moved his wand over the memories, and they attached to it like iron filings to a magnet.

He held his wand to his temple, and the memories leeched into his mind, and what he saw shocked him.

The first memory came before him, and he could instantly tell that it was not a joyful one. Lily Evans sat on a plain wooden chair, head bowed and her hand over her stomach. Her expression was one of sorrow and regret.

"Pregnant…" she whispered. She looked so sad. Something in her gaze seemed to strengthen, as though she was steeling herself for something. She picked up her wand with a shaking hand and directed it at her flat belly. "He can never know," she whispered firmly to herself. "Never… stasis parvulus…" The spell came from her wand as a mist, drifting in a fine white light over her stomach.

The memory ended, and another one took its place.

Another day, another memory… Lily stood wrapped in the arms of James Potter. She looked older. Happier. James had look of stunned disbelief on his face.

"A baby?" he muttered.

"Mhmm," Lilly confirmed happily. "Our very own."

The scene faded, and was replaced yet again by another. A cot sat in the centre of a bright room, and in the cot, Harry could see a tiny baby, so young that its features were still indeterminate and pinched. It had black hair.

_That's me_, Harry thought. The door of the room opened and Lily came in and leaned over the cot. She had her wand in her hand, but she did nothing with it. Instead, she leaned over and deposited a kiss on the infant Harry's on the forehead.

She pulled back only an inch as she whispered softly to him, and Harry leaned closer to hear what she said.

"To see the truth you must first believe in it, my darling child," she murmured, her voice so loving. Harry's insides wrenched in sadness. Lily pulled back, raised her wand, and incanted a long string of charms over the sleeping child…

And then, another memory abruptly leapt to the fore.

His mother stood in a room, holding a photo, but Harry couldn't see it. Suddenly, Lily looked straight up, directly at Harry, and spoke.

"The only thing left to do…is ask. Goodbye, Alex."

Lily turned from him and sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, her face sorrowful. Harry turned as a door opened, and he froze in shock. Lily turned as well, and smiled. She said their name as they raised a camera.

The memory ended and there were no more.

His heart beating, he lurched forward and frantically paged through the photo album to the page he had last looked at. It was the same photo- the same memory. But it could not be…it just couldn't.

He watched as his mother looked up and the photo was taken, and she mouthed a name. And now Harry knew who it was. He watched it again, saw the word forming on her lips.

_Severus_.

**oOoOo**

That night, Harry believed.

**oOoOo**

"Did you hear?" asked Ron as Harry sat down next to him in the Great Hall.

"Hear what?" Harry asked tiredly.

"It's in the paper," said Hermione. "Narcissa Malfoy has been arrested for helping You-Know-Who."

"Woop-de-doo," replied Harry unenthusiastically. Hermione frowned, and Ron continued.

"But you know what's not in the paper?" he asked. Harry shook his head distractedly and served himself a sausage. "Apparently, Malfoy became a ward of the Ministry when it happened; some deal about his parents not being fit to look after him. And now, it's all over the school, but Snape's adopted him! Snape was Malfoy's godfather!"

Harry's head snapped up and he searched out Malfoy over at the Slytherin table.

"Really?" he asked, his heart thumping so loudly that he was afraid Ron and Hermione might hear. He looked up at the staff table to find Snape (whom he had so far been trying to avoid), but he was not there.

"It's true," stated Hermione, as though it was a fact she had read in an encyclopaedia. "Professor McGonagall confirmed it to some seventh years before."

Harry lowered his eyes back to the table.

"Well we'll get to see if it's true later anyway," said Ron, his mouth full. A piece of hash brown flew out of his mouth and onto the plate, and Hermione fixed him with a beady glare.

"Yes, we will," she replied, seemingly giving up on trying to teach Ron any manners. "We've got DADA first."

Harry groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

"What's wrong, mate?" asked Ron, swallowing his mouthful. "Scar?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he lied. "Nothing at all."

**oOoOo**

Harry dawdled outside the classroom, unwilling to go in. He was so confused! He was so frustrated, so angry, and beyond that he was hopeful. But then he felt even angrier with himself, because he knew the hope was false. He followed Ron and Hermione when they began to send him questioning glances, and entered the classroom to see Snape lay a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. He sneered.

Since when did Snape care about anyone?

He swung into a chair harshly, and it hit the table with a _bang_.

"Sure you're alright?" asked Ron.

"_Yes_," ground out Harry. Ron looked like he was about to say something else, but the Snape spoke, and the lesson started. Harry dragged his textbook from his bag and opened it, refusing to look at Snape.

"Who can tell me the four classes of defensive spells?" asked Snape. Harry kept his head down, reading the lines form the text. "Potter?"

Snape's tone was malicious and hateful. Harry gritted his teeth.

"I don't know."

"I don't know, _sir_," repeated Snape.

"There's no need to call me sir," Harry muttered spitefully.

"_What_ did you say?" asked Snape, his voice softly threatening.

"Nothing," Harry replied.

"Detention," snapped Snape, and Harry groaned.

_Should have kept my stupid mouth shut_, he thought angrily. _Bastard_.

For the rest of the lesson, Harry kept his head down and tried to ignore Snape, but it seemed as though Snape were purposely trying to provoke him; his manner was even more malevolent and nasty than usual.

It was only when Harry rushed from the room at the end of the lesson, nerves fraught with tension, that he remembered that he already had and Occlumency lesson with Snape that night.

What is _with_ you and Snape?" asked Ron, catching up to him. He hadn't realised he had been walking so fast. "Slow down, mate. What's going on?"

"Nothing," spat Harry. "He's just a git."

Ron shrugged.

"You were really going at each other in there."

"I hardly said a thing to him," said Harry, seething.

"Harry, you could have cut the tension in that room with a knife, and everyone knows it was because of you two."

"Well what do you want to know, Ron?" asked Harry, losing his patience. "I hate him and he hates me, and that's all there is to it."

"Fine, fine," huffed Ron. "Don't bite my head off."

Harry sighed. Ron was right. Snape had been even worse than usual, and for a moment Harry wondered if somehow he knew as well. It was possible, of course, but surely he wouldn't hide something like that.

_He would_, cut in another little voice. _You're hiding it as well_.

Harry grimaced. He _was_ hiding it, but what else could he do?

**oOoOo**

"So, Potter, have you practiced what I requested?" Snape asked, looking down at his nose at Harry as though he were some repulsive little germ.

"Yes," Professor," replied Harry. He was in no mood to test Snape's patience today. Just get in, do it, and get out, he thought.

"Very well," drawled Snape. "Legilimens."

As soon as he felt Snape enter this mind, Harry sensed the utter ruthlessness and hatred behind this attack. Snape was not holding back at all, and Harry felt the loathing that Snape held to him, and it ripped through him like a knife. A second later, it ripped through his shields as well.

Snape rampaged through Harry's thoughts and memories without regard, weakening Harry's resolve. Harry saw memories from his childhood that he hadn't been able to remember himself; memories of the Dursley's and their hatred. And then his focus moved to school, and his brushes with Voldemort. Harry saw Cedric, and Moody, and Crouch, and then everything seemed to still as Snape grabbed a hold of one particular memory.

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe._

Harry felt a surge of panic and focussed on blocking Snape out, but his efforts were in vain. He felt Snape's anger as the man ruthlessly brushed aside Harry's worthless shields, grabbing the thought and following it back to its origins.

Harry watched in helpless horror as the memory of the poem flashed across his consciousness, and then the Dursley's house, and then the photo. Harry felt the shock of recognition that rushed through Snape and in his moment of inattentiveness, Harry forced Snape from his mind. He stumbled backwards, away from Snape, a glare fixed firmly on his face. He stood with his feet spread wide and his fists clenched so hard that his fingernails pressed painfully into his palm. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. Snape's stance was similar; he had a look of utter loathing upon his features and he seemed to snarl at Harry.

"Pathetic," he spat, but Harry ignored him, simply staring as it dawned on him; the _bastard had known_. Known well before Harry stepped foot in this classroom, it seemed. Snape's behaviour suddenly madde sense, and it stung Harry.

"You knew," he accused, his voice faint. Snape sneered.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he denied, but they both knew the lie was simply to buy time. Harry could have left then, if he'd so chosen, but he didn't. He could have walked away and forgotten the whole thing, dismissed it as a bad joke. But he didn't, and because of that, they were trapped.

Harry's face was pale with anger.

"How long have you known?" he asked, his voice raising without him meaning for it to do so.

"Get out!" spat Snape, pointing imperiously at the door. His lips were pale, his eyes maniacal, and he trembled in rage. How could it have come to this?Harry stood his ground; a second opportunity wasted, and it would be the last.

"How long?" Harry begged. It was so painful. He had to know. _Had_ to. And he could handle it, really, he could. He knew the idea of the two of them ever getting along was entirely unfeasible, but still he hoped, and this angered him. How could he hold hopes of happiness, of acceptance, on this man? He knew the reality of the situation, but that did not stop fanciful thoughts; it probably never would.

"Leave, Potter, before-"

"Before what? How can you just pretend that nothing's happened?" Harry asked, his voice resonating in the restricted space.

"Because nothing _has_ happened," Snape shot back, his voice loud now, too. "You are deluded if you think anything will come of this."

"But you saw!" yelled Harry. "I know the truth and so do you! You can't say it didn't happen!"

"I can do whatever I wish, Potter. Now remove yourself from my office this instant. I do not have the patience to put up with such obscene notions."

"You lying bastard!" shouted Harry. "You can't send me away just because you don't want to be my father!"

"You will _never_ be my son!" roared Snape. When his voice faded away, the silence was absolute, and Harry felt suddenly light-headed. He grew angry with himself for feeling like this; for feeling betrayed, and disappointed, and for wishing that Snape actually wanted him. The two of them stood there, facing off like two desperate gunslingers.

Snape's countenance was flushed; he breathed heavily and his eyes were wild. He was absolutely lived, and Harry had never seen him less composed. It was a moment before either of them realised there was a third party in the room.

"Severus? Harry? What's going on?" Dumbledore's voice was sombre, and as Snape's and Harry's eyes met, they both knew that the headmaster had heard. When neither of them answered, Dumbledore continued.

"I was coming to see you, Severus, and I heard yelling. I must say- Harry is the last person I expected to encounter."

Snape's angry gaze flicked to Dumbledore.

"Shut up, Albus," he enunciated rudely. "Your interference is not wanted and nor is it required. Potter was just leaving."

Dumbledore turned his mild gaze on Harry, ignoring Snape's words.

"Harry? Is there anything you would like to say?"

Harry shrugged. Did it really matter? The situation seemed clear. Snape didn't want him and that was that.

"I'm sure you heard," he said hollowly. Dumbledore frowned.

"Perhaps if we all sat down," he suggested, gesturing at the chairs beside the desk.

"No," replied Harry and Snape simultaneously. Snape glared at him.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "I, however, would much prefer to sit." He waved his wand and a heavily cushioned chair appeared, and he sank into it with a small sigh, looking for all the world as if he were about to watch a Muggle movie.

"Now," he said, interlocking his fingers and peering over his glasses at them. "I heard something about you, Severus, being Harry's father, and you, Harry, never being Professor Snape's son. Is that correct?"

"Yes," muttered Harry reluctantly, while Snape remained in stony silence.

"Albus," he burst out suddenly, "I refuse to discuss this further. It is completely improbable that it is factual and if it is, then I do not care. I have far more important things to be doing with my time."

Dumbledore's frown deepened.

"Severus, I am afraid I must insist. We need to get to the bottom of this."

"It is none of your business," hissed SNape.

"But it is," corrected Dumbledore. "You see, while Harry is at this school, I am, in effect, his guardian."

Harry watched the verbal swordplay between the two with flagging interest. His cheeks burned in humiliation. He had opened up to Snape and had been rejected. Frustration roiled in his gut.

I think," Dumbledore said slowly, causing Harry to look up, "that the first thing we must do is to verify these claims. Everything else can wait until later. A simple paternity spell should do it…"

"That won't be necessary," said Harry bitterly, and the two men looked at him.

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

You won't need to do any tests to prove that I'm his son," replied Harry.

"Why is that?" asked Dumbledore, leaning forward.

"Because you can't fake this," said Harry, letting his glamour drop. Dumbledore's eyes widened and Snape made an odd choking sound.

"When did this happen?" he demanded. Harry replaced the glamour and turned cold eyes on him.

"When I _believed_, Professor," he said, and Snape's eyes widened in comprehension. Dumbledore's frown deepened further in his confusion.

"I think," he said eventually, "that you have a lot of explaining to do."

Harry's heart sank. How could he possibly explain what had happened? What would he say? Would he tell them how he had followed the clues to the Fat Lady and how he had viewed his mother's memories? Would he tell them how he had put the clues together and how, because his mother had said there were no coincidences, he had finally believed? Or how, as he realised the true significance of the poem's last line, he had changed? Yes, he could tell them that. He could tell them how his fingers had thinned, his limbs lengthened and his hair straightened. He could tell them how his eyes had started working properly and his skin had paled and his nose had grown. He could tell them how his chin had gotten that distinct, Snape-like point and how his mouth had widened; how he had grown taller and his voice had deepened.

He could have told them that, but he didn't, because Snape cut in.

"It is impossible," he stated.

"But it has happened," Dumbledore pointed out softly. Snape jerked, as though he were going through some internal conflict.

"It is impossible," he repeated stubbornly.

"It is also impossible for a glamour charm to last on a child for seventeen years, yet it has been done. And it is impossible for such a charm to continue to function after the caster is dead, but this too has happened. Be calm, Severus. I think you are not being rational."

Snape looked as though he wanted to retort, but instead he swallowed and nodded sharply. After a moment he began to speak, his words unsure and halting.

"Lily and I were…close…during our days at Hogwarts. Eventually we became a couple," he said stiffly. Dumbledore seemed surprised at this.

"I never knew," he said, and Snape looked at him sharply.

"Of course you didn't. I insisted we keep it a secret. You know what would have happened if people had found out."

Dumbledore looked at Harry briefly and then back at Snape.

"Did you ever sleep with Lily, Severus?" he asked firmly, and Snape flushed.

"Albus, I fail to see how that has anything to do with our current situation."

Dumbledore tutted impatiently.

"Come now, Severus. Surely you know how children are made."

The jibe angered Snape.

"I did not sleep with Lily for at least three years before Potter was born," he spat. "So you see, he cannot be mine. I do not want him."

_But I could_, thought Harry, remembering his mother's memories. He turned to Dumbledore.

"Professor, what is 'stasis parvulus'?"

Dumbledore looked up sharply.

"Where did you hear that, Harry?"

Snape sniffed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Albus. "You know as well as I do that there is no such spell."

"Lily was the best Charms student I ever saw pass through this school," said Dumbledore, almost to himself. "I have no doubt that had she required a specific charm she would have been fully capable of obtaining it." He looked at Harry again. "The stasis charm is used in healing to hold the body in a state of rest until it can be healed. It is used quite frequently. 'Stasis parvulus,' on the other hand…parvulus is Latin for child, if I am not mistaken. I find myself wondering if your mother used this charm whilst she was pregnant with you."

At his questioning glance, Harry nodded, and was glad when Dumbledore didn't ask how he knew.

"Amazing," murmured Dumbledore. "Such talent. Wasted…" he added, his face falling. He seemed to zone out for a moment, and Harry scuffed the toe of his shoe uncomfortably on the stone floor.

"What to do…" mused Dumbledore suddenly, tapping his lip. Snape glared.

"Surely you cannot expect me to take responsibility for him, Albus! I refuse. He is James Potter's son, not mine!"

Dumbledore looked disappointed at Snape's response, but chose not to pursue it further.

"Well we must do something," he said. "To let this stew further would only encourage disharmony."

Harry fumed that Dumbledore was taking this so calmly, angry that they had not even asked his opinion.

"…most opportune thing that could happen," Dumbledore was saying. Snape snorted. "A chance to hide Harry, if need be…"

Harry's jaw dropped in shock.

"Are you suggesting," he began.

"That Potter pose as my son?" Snape finished.

"No way in hell," Harry spat vehemently.

"For once Potter has it right," said Snape. "It would never work in any case."

"He's right," said Harry immediately. "We'll find some way to fix the glamour-"

"There is no way, Harry," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would be an enormous drain on a person to sustain a glamour for any lengthy amount of time."

"My mother did," returned Harry, but Dumbled9ore shook his head regretfully.

"I am afraid, Harry, that whatever charm your mother used died with her," he said, and the words cut unforgivingly into Harry's mind. For some reason, they felt particularly profound to him. He brushed them aside and raised his chin defiantly.

"We _will_ find a way, Professor, and then you will obliviate me."

Dumbledore looked surprised and Snape shuffled.

"Why ever would you want me to do that?" asked Dumbledore, and Harry ducked his head in shame. How could he admit something as personal as this in fromt of Snape? He took a deep breath and looked up at Dumbledore stubbornly, his decisiveness clearly evident on his face.

"Because I was happier believing that my father died loving me than I am knowing that he is alive and hates me."

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Like it? Hate it? Tell me, please. Reviews really give me encouragement to keep going, otherwise I lose my desire to write. (Obviously, there's no point writing if no one likes it.) So please review, and thanks to those who have already done so.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed :) Thankyou also to the people who pointed out the error with chapters three and five. II was halfway through five when I uploaded three, and mistakenly uploaded the half-finished chapter five instead. GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER THREE AGAIN. I think it will make a lot more sense. **

**Manx- you're right, there really is no logical reason for giving Harry an entirely different name. I do have a reason, but it's merely a personal preference. I just think that Harry Snape sounds _really_ stupid. But he isn't officially changing his name or anything, it's just that it would be a bit suspicious if Harry Potter disappeared and Harry Snape appeared. May lead people to believe that Harry Snape is Harry Potter, and we don't want that…**

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

They had come to an impasse of sorts; Harry and Snape's not dissimilar wishes standing off against Dumbledore's indomitable will. Neither seemed to have the desire or the words to respond to Harry's proclamation, so nobody said anything at all. Instead, Dumbledore seemed to sag, and he sighed deeply, his eyes searching the room for anything to look at but Harry. Snape, too, seemed to sag, as though resigned to the fact that what happened from here on in would not be wholly his choice. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and sank almost wearily into the chair behind his desk.

Dumbledore seemed profoundly ruffled, if there was such a thing; his composure seemed to have left him and he seemed to be at a loss as to what to do. Harry looked expectantly and somewhat mulishly between the two Professors. He had no idea why he was bothering to feel defiant now; maybe as recompense for what he had told them not a minute before. He may as well have told them he was desperate; that he would do anything for someone who wanted him, even if it was Severus Snape.

But it seemed that wouldn't be happening. Snape clearly abhorred the fact that he had been put in this position, clearly abhorred Harry, and clearly abhorred Dumbledore's interference. In retrospect, Harry was glad Dumbledore had turned up. If he hadn't, Snape might have placed a memory charm on him. In further retrospect, Harry also abhorred Dumbledre's interference; hadn't a memory charm been the very thing he had just been asking for? Harry suddenly felt foolish as he remembered all those fantasies he had had as a child. Fantasies about his mother and his father, about how they would come one day and they would be kind, and they would love him, cherish him, play with him.

Harry hadn't realised that deep down he still entertained those fantasies, and now they had been quashed. He had given up on the hope that they were alive- given up long ago- but he could still dream. Now though, he knew those dreams to be false. Loving and cherishing weren't things one could ever attribute to Severus Snape.

Yes, Harry thought, right now a memory charm sounded really good, but it seemed that Dumbledore had other thoughts.

"Harry, may I see you again?" he asked quietly, and Harry thought the request sounded odd.

"Must he?" spat Snape loudly, curtly, and Dumbledore silenced him with a sharp look.

"Harry?" he prompted. Snape was right, Harry thought. Must he really? He did it anyway, with that strange dripping feeling, as though the glamour was melting right off of him, and then he was _Snape_, right down to the very last hair. Dumbledore stared at him, studying him as though he were some new and exciting specimen, while Snape just gazed at him with an odd haunted expression, before looking away.

"A fine looking boy," Dumbledore commented, almost to himself, and Snape snorted.

"Certainly the only Snape to ever be called that," he said wryly. Harry grimaced. He would rather be an ugly Potter than a handsome Snape. Dumbledore tapped his chin with an extended forefinger, musing over Harry's appearance.

"I think you would look quite handsome yourself, Severus, if you cut you hair," he said finally, and Harry looked up in shock. How could Dumbledore be so – so…blasé about this whole thing?

"Albus!" said Snape sharply. "I really don't think this is the time. This is no laughing matter!"

"Indeed it is not," replied Dumbledore, still observing Harry. "Not a laughing matter at all."

"You truly believe that good can come of this?" Snape asked. The scepticism in his voice rivalled Harry's own. Dumbledore paused a moment before answering, seriously considering his answer as Harry had never seen him do before. Surely Dumbledore could not believe, even at a stretch, that Snape would ever find it in his heart to accept Harry?

"I believe that the situation could be used to our advantage, Severus, nothing more," he said eventually, sounding mildly disappointed – yet again, Harry thought. He failed to see how it was Dumbledore who could so thoroughly express his dislike of the circumstances, when both Harry and Snape felt so much more strongly about it than he did. Damn that man, Harry thought furiously. He was infuriating! One moment he acted as though this was the gravest of situations, and the next, his cavalier attitude gave rise to the thought that he barely cared in the slightest.

Harry glanced over at Snape, and saw that he was in deep thought, his gaze fixated on the desk in front of him. After a moment of deliberation he looked up at Dumbledore, who stared back at him with a mildly curious expression.

"You have a suggestion, Severus?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Snape churlishly. "If you are adamant about this- that is to say, if you insist on this foolhardiness- then I am prepared to work with you. I will, however, not go about pretending that Potter is my son."

"No, no, I would not expect that of you," replied Dumbledore. "There are other options, however."

"I…have family in the Balkans," said Snape hesitantly. "And in France. The French ones, I would say, are more obscure. Maybe a distant nephew, or some such thing. Obviously he cannot be close enough for anyone with an interest to trace, but I have someone who would be willing to collaborate."

"A relative who would corroborate your story, should anyone become curious?" asked Dumbledore lightly, and Snape nodded.

"It will be no trouble setting up a story. France is rife with illegitimate children," Snape said, sneering at Harry. Harry felt his face pale in anger, and he sneered right back. Snape looked shocked for a moment, and Harry thought that the resemblance must show plainly when he made such similar facial expressions. He schooled his face into a calm mask immediately, but the anger still bubbled in his chest.

"I don't want to pretend I'm anything other than Harry Potter," he spat. "I have a choice in this; you can't simply order me about and decide what I am to do with my life! I have friends here, I have-"

"Shut up," enunciated Snape curtly, drawing Harry rudely to a halt. "I like this situation no more than you do, Potter, yet it seems we have little choice in the matter. You have been told quite clearly, I believe, that maintaining a glamour for an lengthy amount of time is not a feasible option, and therefore leaves only one other. You will assume your natural identity because there is no other choice at this present moment in time."

"So you would force me to assume another identity against my will?" he asked Dumbledore.

"I would hope," Dumbledore replied calmly, "that you would come to see reason, and agree through your own common sense."

Harry heard Snape make a noise of disbelief, and Harry glared at him.

"So what will you call me?" he asked spitefully. "_Alex_?" He felt a stab of vicious triumph when Snape still and paled, looking up at him in dismay.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asked, his voice holding a rough edge. Harry glared disdainfully at him.

"What's wrong, Snape?" he mocked. "Things getting too emotional for you?"

"Harry! Dumbledore said in alarm. "Calm yourself!"

Snape was irate, sitting forward with his hands clenched tightly on the desk.

"Where?" he demanded again, and Harry gave in to Dumbledore's questioning glance.

"In one of the memories my mother left me she said my name would have been Alex if-"

"If you hadn't been a Potter," Dumbledore supplied.

_Yes_, Harry agreed silently. _If I hadn't been a Potter._

The three men stood in silence for a moment before Dumbledore spoke up again, his voice decisive. Harry cringed at the finality in the tone.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, as though he had decided something. "It is impossible for you to remain here as in your current capacity, Harry, but you cannot leave. However there is no doubt that you are of some relation to Professor Snape, but it would be foolish for you to pose as his son. I think it would be best if we employed Severus' idea; a wayward son of a cousin, perhaps. Illegitimately conceived, so as not to arouse suspicion if somebody cared to look."

Harry felt tingly all over, felt disconnected somehow from his own body. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't do this to him, not now. He wished he had never found out. He wished Snape had never found out. Most of all, he wished that Dumbledore would cease meddling in affairs that were not his. Guardian! As if he cared about that, Harry fumed. Dumbledore had simply seen an opportunity to make things work in his favour and he was taking it, regardless of the implications and regardless of the consequences.

"No!" Harry snapped. "I will not! I have a life here; you can't just take it away from me! I have _friends_! I won't leave them just because you think that something can be gained from this!"

Dumbledore frowned lightly at Harry; Snape sneered.

"Harry, you will still be able to see them. You will be Sorted again just as any new student would be. All that will be changing is your name."

"And you think Gryffindors will be friends with a Snape?" snarled Harry. "They hate _him_," he spat, gesturing angrily at Snape, "and so they will hate me!"

"Harry!" said Dumbledore harshly. "I will not have any of this nonsense! You are not thinking logically about the situation we have found ourselves in!" He paused for a moment, surveying Harry through his glasses. "Now I will ask you to go to your room and pack your things, Harry. You may take the time to say goodbye to your friends, but I expect you to be at my office by five o'clock, is that clear?"

Harry knew that his jaw must be hanging open.

"Today?" he asked quietly, but then he snapped. "You're serious about making me do this? I WON'T! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS! HOW CAN YOU-"

"Potter!" snapped Snape. "Cease that infernal racket at once! Believe me when I say I have no wish for this either, but as we have no choice, I would rather it be done without fuss!"

Harry stood with his fists clenched, chest heaving.

"Fine," he hissed. "Fine."

He stormed past Dumbledore, reinstating the glamour as he went. He left the room, slamming the door loudly behind him. It echoed in the narrow dungeon hall with a sort of finality that left Harry feeling even worse than he had before.

**oOoOo**

_Foolish boy_, seethed Snape. How dare he act as though he were the only one being put out by this! How dare he say such a thing? Happier believing his father had died loving him, was he, than knowing his father was alive and hated him? How dare he even think to name Snape as his father! Stupid, foolish, _naïve_ child. Stupid, foolish _Severus_, as well, for ever thinking that it would be wise to follow those tantalising hints that had been presented to him. For going too far, again, into Potter's mind. Never before had there been repercussions to doing such a thing, but this time there had been, and the act was impossible to take back.

And how could Lily have done such a thing? How could she? How…

Frustration reared in his chest, raising its head like an ugly snake. He should have known, from the very first moment he heard the poem that something was going on. Lily never hid things, not unless they were supremely important. And upon finding out that _Potter_ had heard the same poem- well, he should have used some common sense and run as far and as possible in the opposite direction. But that was the thing about Lily, he thought. He had never been able to resist her gently firm and persuading ways.

Oh, how he wished he could change this. He would give anything…

Anything, because there was no way that he would ever allow Harry bloody Potter to be his son. Suddenly the future seemed like one huge complication, even more so than it had been before. Before it had been him, and only him that he had to worry about, but now there was someone else- someone he had no desire at all to take care of. And then there was Albs – always Albus, he thought – imposing him will over them once again.

"Severus?"

It was Albus, of course. How he hated that voice sometimes; butting in, when he would much rather prefer to simply sulk and dwell in his misery. And those eyes! There was seldom a moment when they weren't a bright, happy, twinkling blue. And yet there was no one else he would rather serve than this man who had shown him forgiveness and – what was this? Was he going soft? Damn the man! –

"What, Albus?" Sharp, condescending, berating. Perfect.

"You took rather the wrong path to what I was hoping you would."

"And you had a lot of time to analyse the situation and determine what was best, did you?"

"Severus."

Ah, how one word can do so much, thought Severus.

"Albus."

Yes, that's right, old man. It works both ways.

"You _will_ teach him what he needs to know. He must be able to fit in as this person he is pretending to be."

"You realise how difficult this task is? What do you wish for me to do? Teach him French?"

"A basic understanding would be-"

"You're not joking!"

"I can assure you I am not, Severus. A little accent possibly, to convince the students of his background…"

"This is ridiculous, Albus," hissed Snape. "How long would you have us carry on this charade?"

"It is a charade that may save many lives, Severus. Our situation with Harry was beginning to become quite precarious. I was also thinking that when the time is right – you may be able to…introduce him to Voldemort."

**oOoOo**

**A/N: I had planned on it being longer, but this seemed like a good place to end. Because the chapters are so short, I think this will end up being much longer than the original 10-12 that I had planned. Thanks for reading, please review – Wujjawoo. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Kirinin – thanks for the review. I think it's one of the best I've had. I'd just like to point out that I'm writing this story with the aim of the end result being a decent Snape-becomes-Harry's-father. I agree that the abuse was a bit overly dramatic, but in all my other fics, Harry _is_ strong and rebellious etc. The abusive aspect of his family life was a good way to change circumstances a bit, and I didn't think it was the all-out abuse that some people do. Sorry if it seemed that way, because I wasn't trying to make it so. The fact that Snape does not care about it serves to widen the gap between the two of them. **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

"You would have me take him to the Dark Lord? Why?"

Severus," Dumbledore tutted. "Surely you remember the prophecy?"

Snape started. It had been so long since he had thought of that prophecy, and that night. He had only heard the beginning of it, after all, and he wondered why Albus was bringing it up now. An unwelcome thought entered his mind.

"You believe that Potter is…"

"You don't know the prophecy in its entirety, Severus. There is no doubt that it is Harry, however."

Snape sneered.

"We are doomed," he said, and Dumbledore frowned.

"Have some faith, Severus. It is time you-"

Snape laughed out loud.

"Faith is one thing I will never have," he said emphatically. "And you will certainly not be able to imbue me with it through that boy."

Suddenly Dumbledore stepped back from Snape, his manner cold. His eyes flashed in anger.

"Do you really see this as a curse, Severus?" he asked, his voice distant.

"It is certainly not a blessing."

Dumbledore frowned, and took a step back from Snape, in order to look him up and down. Snape had the impression that Dumbledore thought him something particularly disgusting.

"Harry has wished his whole life for a family, Severus; it is what he sees when he looks in the Mirror of Erised."

Snape sneered, but Dumbledore kept talking.

"I don't believe he has ever truly been loved, by anyone. It is not something a child should go without. You have told me what you see in the Mirror, Severus, and I cannot help but think that this is the perfect chance to-"

"Enough!" spat Snape. "You are a fool, Albus! You are failing to grasp the implications of this situation. You are failing to see that I _do not want a son_. He is the son of James Potter. We have never gotten along, and never will through any choice of mine. If it is what you wish, I will go along with this until such time as you have made your plans and carried them out. After that time, however, I refuse to have anything to do with the boy!"

Dumbledore seemed to grow angrier at Snape's words, though for the life of him, Snape could not fathom why.

"I do not want a son, Albus," Snape spat, "nor do I have the time for one."

"Ridiculous," replied Dumbledore in a reproving manner. "I cannot believe that a parent would knowingly turn away their child. And you, I know, did desire a family at one time. I don't think that that has changed in the slightest."

Snape sneered. Albus had no business analysing his wants and desires.

"Very well, Albus. Let us pretend that what you say is correct. Were it so, there might be a slight chance that I would be paternally inclined. But I think you are failing to see the details of the current situation. I said I do not want a son. Perhaps what I should have said, to be clearer, was that I do not want Harry Potter for a son."

**oOoOo**

Harry stormed into the Gryffindor common room, his face red with anger. He saw Ron and Hermione look up and glance at him in surprise, and knowing they would follow, he continued up to the dormitory. He threw open the lid of his trunk and began piling his possessions into it.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, his voice conveying his confusion.

"What does it look like?" asked Harry savagely. "I'm packing."

"Packing?" asked Hermione in surprise. "Where are you going?"

Harry slammed the lid down and spun to face his two friends.

"Dumbledore has seen fit to impose his will and remove me from Hogwarts," he spat, unwilling to tell them the truth. "It's too dangerous for me here, or some such rubbish. So now I'm to go off somewhere and he won't even tell me how long for!"

Ron and Hermione's jaws dropped in disbelief.

"You're leaving!" Ron repeated. Harry nodded sharply. "Now?"

"I have to be at his office by five," spat Harry. Hermione's face grew sad and Ron swore, kicking the foot of Harry's bed.

"That bastard!" he yelled.

"Ron!" reproved Hermione.

"That's what I said," said Harry glumly, his anger dissipating at their reactions. He laid his head in his hands and sighed. "Bloody hell! Why does it have to be now?" he mumbled. He felt Hermione lay a hand softly on his back, and he looked blearily up at her and Ron. The two of them moved to sit across from him on Ron's bed.

"Did he say why?" Hermione asked. "I mean, apart from it being too dangerous for you here?"

"That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Ron. "Hogwarts is the safest place in all of England! Where else will you go?"

Harry shrugged in reply, before replying in the negative to Hermione. He looked around for anything he might have missed and slammed the lid of his trunk shut. It echoed into the silence with an empty sort of finality. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling terrible about lying to them. He couldn't tell them, though. He knew that Ron, at least, would never accept it.

"Well, I guess I'd better go, then," he said wearily.

Ron cleared his throat.

"Bye," he said gruffly, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Bye, Harry," echoed Hermione.

Harry murmured a quiet goodbye and set off for Dumbledore's office.

**oOoOo**

Harry arrived at Dumbledore's office to find it empty, so he sat uninvited in the chair in front of the desk, his arms crossed stiffly over his chest. He glared at the childish instruments surrounding the room in disdain, wondering how he could ever have imagined them to be interesting. His eyes landed on one on the mantelpiece above the fire, and his hands itched to take it up and smash it to pieces. After all, it had no discernable purpose, and its constant soft whirring was becoming increasingly annoying. And it belonged to Dumbledore. In Harry's mind at this moment, that was enough of a reason to cease its existence.

Harry slumped further down in the seat, scowling unseeingly at the wall. His anger bubbled up in his chest, seeking an outlet. He decided that if he had to go along with this…charade, then he wasn't going to make it easy for them. Giving a grim smile of satisfaction, Harry schooled his face into a calm mask and sat up straighter in the chair, raising his chin in defiance.

A moment later Harry heard muted voices that increased in volume as they ascended the staircase, and Dumbledore and Snape entered the room.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice bland. He came around the front of the desk and took a seat, gesturing for Snape to do the same. "I wasn't sure you would be here."

"You told me to come," Harry pointed out loudly.

"Yes, well…"

"Well, what?"

"Quiet now, Potter," snapped Snape. Harry shot him a glare, which was returned full force. Dumbledore tutted impatiently.

"Come now," he chided. "I sincerely hope the two of you will be sensible about this. I am painfully aware of the fact that you may wish things to be otherwise, but circumstances have forced us into this position. I-"

"_You_ have forced us into this position," said Harry, leaning forward to stare at Dumbledore. "Don't think for a moment that either of us believes otherwise, _sir_."

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a moment, a flash of sorrow passing across his face.

"I had hoped that it would not come to this," he said softly.

"And what did you think it would come to?" Harry asked bitterly. "You thought I would put up with everything you forced upon me?"

"I have done what was good for you, Harry."

"You have done what was good for your cause," said Harry. "It's what you've always done and it's what you'll continue to do. Don't think I don't know it."

"Harry-" began Dumbledore, his voice firm.

"No," cut in Harry. "Don't try and tell me otherwise. Ill do what you want, Dumbledore, but don't lie to me. _Don't_ lie to me."

Dumbledore regarded Harry with a cool look before leaning back in his chair, a strange look on his face.

"I am very sorry for this, Harry, I really am."

"Snape's sorry too, sir."

"Ah, yes, I see your point."

Dumbledore and Harry stared at each other for a moment before Snape broke the silence.

"If you two are quite done, I would like to complete our arrangements before a decent hour."

"Of course, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly, his gaze not leaving Harry. Suddenly he blinked and looked down at the table. He fiddled with his quill indecisively before picking it up and scribbling something on a piece of paper and locking it away in his drawer.

"Well?" inquired Harry. "What happens now?"

"Now?" said Dumbledore. "Well, you cannot stay here. Your father and I have-"

"Albus!" injected Snape sharply, and Dumbledore sent him a frown, but amended his words.

"Professor Snape and I have discussed possible options. It is holidays in just a few short weeks, and that should be more than enough time for you to adjust to the situation. It is enough time for people to not be suspicious about your disappearance and the appearance of someone new."

"And?" Harry prompted.

"We have decided that you will return to Hogwarts for the beginning of the new term, and will be Sorted as any new student would to evade suspicion."

"So I can be in Gryffindor?" asked Harry quickly, a brief hint of hoe lighting his outlook. Dumbledore gave a small smile.

"Of course. In the mean time, however, you will take lodgings with Professor Snape at his home in London. You have many things to learn if you are to play the part."

Harry thought about objecting, but then wondered what else he had been expecting. Nothing too different, he supposed. He gave a sharp nod of agreement and stood as Dumbledore and Snape did. Snape fiddled in his pocket for a moment and withdrew a small stone.

"Take this, Potter," he said, holding out the small blue object. "I will be along shortly."

Harry grasped the handle of his trunk and gripped the stone tightly in his fist. Snape tapped the protruding edge with his wand and a second later, Harry felt a tug and was gone.

**oOoOo**

"A Snape in Gryffindor, Albus? It is unheard of."

"Harry is in Gryffindor."

"He is a Potter."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the better it will be."

"I can assure that I _have_ admitted it, Albus," replied Snape harshly. "Admitting does not mean that I have to accept it however."

"If the issue is of Harry being in Gryffindor, I should tell you that that is only through his own choice."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that the Sorting Hat wanted to put Harry in Slytherin. The two of you are not so different after all, Severus."

"The fact that I chose Slytherin and he did not attests to our complete incompatibility, Albus. You'll see; this will not end well."

Dumbledore didn't answer. He stared off into the distance as though he could see something more than the wall there.

"The more I see that boy, the more he reminds me of another," he said eventually, his voice so quiet that Snape thought he could have been talking to himself. He turned to look at Snape. "I sincerely hope we are doing the right thing."

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Please review and let me know what you think. I'll be updating much quicker now that I've finished CoV, but I'm fairly sure that they won't be long chapters - Wujjawoo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

Spinner's End, thought Harry, was a dump. He glared at the room in which he had been accommodated, grudgingly acknowledging that it was at least better than what the Dursleys had given him. Although he had not seen the house from the outside, Harry had the impression that it was in a state of disrepair. He squinted out of the dirty window and peered as far to the side as he could in an attempt to see something. Next to the window he could see a dirty drainpipe encrusted with mould and spider webs, and above the window pane shingles hand by the barest thread from the edge of the roof. Everything seemed to be a drab brown in colour.

Inside was little better. The walls were cream, but the paint was cracking and stained in places. One of the doors on the cupboard was hanging loosely from its hinges, and one of the legs of the bed was shorter than the others. He shoved a book underneath it to stop it rocking. The floorboards creaked with each step he took, and Harry winced every time he moved because of it. The whole place held an air of despair about it, and Harry thought that it was a good thing Snape spent so much of his time at Hogwarts. He wondered why Snape didn't do something to try and make the house a bit nicer, but then thought that the man properly liked it better this way.

Snape had hardly said a word to him when he'd arrived. He'd simply pointed down the hallway and said, 'you will be staying in the last room on the left. The kitchen is through the door, and the bathroom is the last door on the right. If it is absolutely necessary you may use this room in your free time, but you are not to go anywhere else. Is that quite clear?' Harry had nodded and Snape had given him a suspicious look reminiscent of Uncle Vernon. Harry had very nearly told Snape that he wouldn't destroy the house while he was gone. Snape had told him that he would be returning after dinner that night and then he had gone.

Harry flopped down on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling. He laid eyes on the bare light bulb on the ceiling and was tempted to get up and see if it worked. Having nothing better to do, he did so. The light _did_ work, and Harry was a bit surprised at the fact. Despite its functionality though, the light was quite inefficient. It illuminated the room in a dull yellow wash, and Harry turned it off in favour of the small amount of sunlight that snuck in the gap between Snape's house and the one next door. He was unwilling to go downstairs, but after pacing restlessly in the small room for a few minutes he decided that he had nothing better to do.

He hadn't unpacked yet; didn't plan to, in fact. His belongings were still tucked safely away in his trunk, and he intended for it to stay that way. He glanced longingly at the cupboard for a second, thinking that it would be nice to have somewhere where he could put his things and not have to move them again. It would be nice to have a home. He squashed the thought and patted his pocket, making sure his wand was securely in his pocket. God only knew what monstrous things Snape might have wandering about his home. Taking one last look around the room, Harry made a small noise of decision and stepped out the door.

The hall was dark, having no windows, and Harry hurried away from the shadows. The house was small, and the hall went directly to the living room that Harry had first arrived in. It was nothing special, but it was better than his room. Dark curtains of an indeterminate colour dropped from the windows, blocking off the light, and Harry opened them, allowing the dying sunlight in. He wondered what time it was, and seeing no clock he guessed that it was about five. The floor was carpeted in here, a tan colour that was tainted by years of dust. Harry thought briefly of doing some cleaning, but immediately dismissed the idea. He didn't want to anger Snape on the first day.

A fireplace stood against the opposite wall, and looked as though it had never been cleaned in the whole time Snape had lived here. It was beginning to get cold, and Harry wondered if he should light a fire. That thought was followed by wondering if he could use magic. Snape hadn't said he couldn't, after all. Best to wait he decided. Harry went to the window set in the front wall and looked out into the front garden. It was overgrown with weeds and shrubs, and Harry could just make out a stone path running from the front door to the gate. Vines crawled over the low front wall and the letterbox, and Harry laughed at the thought of Snape getting junk-mail.

Beyond Snape's garden was the road and neighbourhood, and Harry thought he might recognise the area. The houses were all the same, in varying states of ruination, and children's toys and rubbish littered the sidewalk. The sky was beginning to cloud over as the light dwindled and the sun sank lower in the sky, and fat drops of rain began to spatter onto the road. Harry watched three children run past, laughter issuing from their mouths, and he smiled bitterly. He turned away from the window and pulled the curtains, turning on the light. The light in here was a little better than the one in his room, illuminating the bare furniture.

With a start, Harry realised that Snape had a television. He blinked in disbelief and rubbed his eyes, thinking in amusement that this was where people bean to suspect that they were hallucinating. He let out a whoop of delight and flicked the television on before sinking down onto the threadbare green couch and propping his feet on the coffee table. He found the lounge to be quite comfortable, belying its lumpy appearance. He flicked through the channels with the remote – _remote_ – before settling on a James Bond movie. How long had it been since he'd watched television? Too long, he decided, and settled in. Maybe, he thought, his stay wouldn't be all bad.

At eight-thirty the movie ended and a news report came on. When Harry saw the time he jumped up in surprise and turned the television off. He turned off the light and dashed down the hall to his room, not wanting to be about when Snape got home. He sat on his bed reading his transfiguration book and wishing he could practice. His stomach rumbled loudly and he wondered how long it would be before Snape got home. His question was answered however, as he heard movement downstairs. He got up cautiously and put his book away before moving to the door. He switched off the light, checked his pocket for his wand and then moved out into the hall.

The lights in the living room and kitchen were now on and Harry walked somewhat timidly into the kitchen. He hadn't been in here yet, and was surprised to see that it was quite different to the rest of the house. The curtains were closed, of course, but they were a bright, clean emerald green, as were the tops of the counters. It was a big kitchen, and Harry saw at once that it doubled as a potions lab. One end of it was full of potions equipment, and the shelves were stocked with large amounts of magical ingredients. Harry thought that it was the only evidence that it was a wizarding home, and wondered at Snape's choice of lifestyle.

Harry saw that Snape owned a number of Muggle appliances, including a coffee maker and microwave. An old-fashioned telephone sat on the counter. In the corner of the room stood the refrigerator, in which Snape was currently rummaging. Snape stood up and slammed the door rather harder than was necessary and spun around, a cross look on his face. His gaze landed on Harry, who stepped back in alarm.

"I, uh, thought I heard you get back."

Snape didn't answer and instead turned to the pantry and began rummaging about again.

"I suppose you are hungry," he said eventually.

"A little, yes," admitted Harry.

"Well, I don't appear to have any food for you," said Snape, slamming the door in annoyance. Something fell off of the shelf and smashed. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" snarled Snape. He flung open the door and cleaned up he mess with a flick of his wand. Harry thought that this would be an opportune moment to leave, but his hunger stayed his movement.

"We could order out, sir. Pizza, or something…"

"Pizza?" questioned Snape with a scowl.

"It's a Muggle food, sir."

"I know what pizza is, Potter!" said Snape. "I do not have any Muggle money in my possession, however."

"I have some," said Harry tentatively. "I could pay."

Snape waved a dismissive hand.

"Very well," he said. "Do what you will. The telephone is there, and I believe there is a phone book in one of these cupboards."

With that, Snape swept from the room, leaving Harry standing in the doorway alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry began searching for the phone book. He found it in the bottom drawer next to the refrigerator and flipped through it to the fast-food section.

He ordered a large Hawaiian from Tony's Pizzeria and they told him they would deliver within the hour, or his pizza would be free. Harry replaced the phone book in the door and moved slowly into the living room, where Snape sat reading a book. Harry saw with a start that there was now a large bookshelf covering the whole wall. He was quite sure that that wall had been blank before.

"Where did that come from?" he asked suddenly. Sape looked up with a derisive sneer on his face.

"I'm sure you've realised by now that this is a rather poor neighbourhood, Potter. It plays host to some quite unsavoury characters who pay no heed to the rights of ownership. A number of these books are quite expensive, and as such it would be foolish of me to leave them in plan view in my living room."

"Right," murmured Harry, assuming that there had been a concealing charm on it. "Well, the pizza will be here soon, sir."

He received no reply, so he shrugged and went back to his room to get his money. He was relieved to see that he had enough. He bundled the notes and coins in his fist and walked as slowly as he could back to the living room. He hung in the doorway, wondering what to do, until Snape looked up at him.

"You may sit down," he said sharply, as though he was annoyed that Harry was hanging around.

Harry sat down and tried to see what book Snape was reading, but whether on purpose or by accident, it was angled away. After a moment, Snape turned the page and looked up sharply. He followed Harry's gaze.

"You are not to touch _any_ of my books," he said, clearly and loudly, "unless I expressly tell you to do so."

"Yes sir," replied Harry, dropping his eyes. They sat in uncomfortable silence until there was a jaunty knock on the door. Snape sent a filthy look in that direction and Harry jumped to his feet. He was just about to open the door when Snape jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"Wait," he said firmly. He released Harry's wrist and manoeuvred him behind the door. He held out his hand.

"Money," he demanded. Harry passed him the handful of notes and loose change and stepped back out of sight. Snape opened the door so quickly that Harry felt the air brush against his face.

"Jeez, mate," came the voice of the delivery boy. "Uh, your pizza…"

"How much?" demanded Snape. Harry rolled his eyes. Could the man never be civil?

"$16.50, dude," came the voice again, sounding bored now. Harry stifled a laugh. There was a moment pause in which Harry heard the clink of coins. "Need help?" asked the boy.

"No, I do not require help," sneered Snape through clenched teeth. "There."

There was a shuffle as money was exchanged for pizza, and then the door slammed shut with enormous force. Snape turned to Harry and shoved the pizza into his hands. The corner of Harry's lips quirked upwards and he started down the hall to his room.

"Thanks, dude," he called out.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: I decided to end it there, even though I had it planned as being much longer. And that's about all I have to say on this chapter – Wujjawoo**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to an empty house. He wondered if Snape had even slept there that night. With a disgruntled sigh, Harry fell out of bed and dressed himself, before rooting around in his trunk for his watch. It was only half past seven, but Harry felt wide awake. He stumbled down to the kitchen in search of food as his stomach grumbled loudly, but found only a note from Snape that disappeared after he had read it. It was short and concise, without any kind of greeting or goodbye. It stated simply that a house elf would be bringing meals from Hogwarts for him, and that should he require any help he should use the fire to contact Professor Dumbledore. The note was signed of with an irritable comment about Snape returning again after dinner that evening, and Harry assumed that it would be another awkward night. He wished that this was all a bad dream, and that any moment he would wake up and everything would be okay again.

Having nothing to do, Harry set to reading through his text books, in the hope that he wouldn't be too far behind when he returned next term. It wasn't long before there was a loud crack, in the living room, and Harry got up to find a house elf bearing a tray of food.

"Missy is bringing Master Potter his breakfast," she squeaked, bowing low. "I is returning later to bring you lunch."

Harry was about to say thankyou, but with a second sharp _crack_, Missy disappeared.

"Thanks," said Harry to the empty silence. He sat on the comfortable green lounge and pulled the tray closer. It had only been one day, but already he felt a faint sense of nostalgia as he smelt the aroma of fried bacon and eggs. He imagined Ron and Hermione sitting in class now, bellies full of delicious Hogwarts food. He thought vaguely that they'd be in Defence now, with Snape and the Slytherins. That thought was immediately followed bythe realisation that Malfoy was in that class, and that Snape had adopted Malfoy. He thought with a sneer that that made them brothers, in a sense.

"What a dysfunctional family we're going to be," he said to his breakfast. He tried to bat down the twinge of jealousy that had arisen at the thought of Snape and Malfoy, but it refused to budge. He known before now, of course, that Snape had adopted Malfoy, but he'd never thought that he would ever _care_ about it. He supposed that in the chaos surrounding the move here he hadn't really thought about it much. He laughed at himself bitterly, scornful of his emotions. He'd never thought there would be a day when he would be jealous of Draco Malfoy, but that day had finally arrived, and Harry was quite sure it was something that he never wished to experience again. Nor had he ever thought htat there would come a time when it would hurt to be rejected by Snape, but that day, too, was here. Strangely, though, he found himself wishing not that it didn't hurt, but that Snape actually wanted him.

He snorted at the stupidity of that wish, because he knew it would never happen. Was he so desperate that he thought that Snape would make an acceptable family?

Harry shovelled his food into his mouth so fast that he nearly choked, chewing fast in an attempt to turn his thoughts elsewhere. He thought about what Hermione would say if she could see him now.

_That's disgusting, Harry! And you, Ron! Can't you chew with your mouths closed? Honestly. _

_Boys. _

How long would it be before he could see them again? A month? Three weeks of school left, and then a week of holidays, and then he would officially be a Snape. He hoped that the Gryffindors wouldn't shun him for it, though he had trouble imagining Ron accepting him. Harry threw his fork and knife down in consternation. He was fooling himself if he thought that Ron would ever understand. Hell, he didn't even like it, and Ron detested Snape even more than Harry did. He wished there was someone he could tell. Anyone would have been acceptable, but he was stuck here, in this _dump_, with no one to contact but Albus Dumbledore. And he certainly had no wish to speak to _him_.

Thoroughly tired of studying by the time lunch came, Harry decided to clean. He started in the room Snape had given him, but there was so little to be done in there that he was finished in no time. The kitchen, too, needed little work done in it, so Harry turned to the mess that was the living room. He searched the whole house but was unable to find any kind of cleaning product, so resorted to simply picking things up and straightening things. When he was finished, he slumped down on the lounge and saw that it had only been an hour. He huffed in annoyance. What was he doing here that he couldn't do at Hogwarts?

_Absolutely nothing!_

Harry lurched to his feet with a growl of rage and kicked out at the coffee table. Pain shot through his foot but he ignored it. Why did things have to be so damned unfair? Why couldn't his father just have stayed dead? How could his mother have done such a thing? And with Snape, of all people! Harry stalked down the hallway, slamming his fist into the wall as he went. He went into the bathroom and scrubbed furiously at the mirror. How could Snape live in such filth? Maybe he didn't, and he just wanted to make Harry's stay as uncomfortable as possible. That was probably it, Harry thought savagely. Snape had never thought him worth much. He was just like the Dursleys, when he thought about it. He thought that if Snape had had his way Harry would be sleeping in the broom closet.

Harry furiously pulled his wand from his pocket and removed the glamour from his body, no longer caring if he could use magic or not. The glamour melted away, leaving Harry staring at someone completely different. Had he been like this all along? For the past seventeen years of his life, there had been someone else hiding underneath the face of James Potter, and the thought made him sick. This new face was so strange, so different. Before now he'd never really cared to take a good look at it, wishing it wasn't true, but he did now.

His hair, which was the same length as it had always been, no longer stood up all over the place, but fell about his face in a messy black mop. He saw with relief that it covered his scar quite nicely, and decided that the hair would have to stay. Harry's favourite part of his body suddenly became his eyes, the only thing that seemed not to have changed about him. They stared unblinkingly into the mirror, taking in every detail of his new body. He reached up a hand to feel his lips, and the strange new mouth. His mouth was longer, and he noticed with surprise that it smiled quite nicely. Having never seen Snape give a pleasant smile, this came as something of a surprise. His chin was pointier; in fact, his whole body appeared to be bonier and longer than it had been before. His cheekbones were distinct now, just like Snape's, and his nose was quite prominent, though not overly so. It stood out; an aquiline shape that Harry decided didn't look too bad. It was smaller than Snape's, and when he thought about it he decided that it mad him look quite distinguished.

His skin was so much paler now, as well, but Harry thought that it wasn't pale like Snape's. It was more of a creamy colour, like his mother's had been. Harry's gaze went to his hand, which still rested on his chin, and moved it in front of him with a hint of amazement. His hands were like Snape's, long and thin. He gripped his wand experimentally and decided that it was much more comfortable to hold now. He had never noticed it being uncomfortable before, but now he thought that it would be a shame to go back. Disgruntled at finding a positive aspect to his change in appearance, Harry turned away from the mirror with a snarl, reapplying the glamour. He decided that he wouldn't remove it again unless she absolutely had to.

**oOoOo**

Harry was lying lethargically on his bed that evening when he heard Snape arrive, and he was slow to get up. He ran a hand lazily though his hair and stood up, hunger the only thing enticing him to move. When he arrived in the main part of the house, Snape was seated at the small, rickety table in the dining room, a stack of parchments and books balanced neatly before him. When Harry entered the room, Snape looked up and gestured irritably for Harry to take a seat across from him. Harry did so wordlessly, in the seat farthest from his father.

After a moment, Snape looked up and waved his hand; a platter appeared, with a jug of water and a glass. Taking this as the signal to begin eating, Harry dug in with relish as Snape began grading papers. He thought he recognised one adorned in Hermione's impeccable script, and felt a sudden sense of longing for Hogwarts. All too soon, Harry looked down to find the platter empty, and he dropped his fork with a clang. Snape looed up with a scowl, and when he saw that Harry's plate was empty he waved it away with a flick of his wrist. He looked down at the parchment he was grading and scrawled a big red 'A' and thrust the entire pile to the side and replacing it with another. He finally looked up at Harry, an ugly look on his face. He picked up his quill and fiddled for a moment before looking down at it and speaking.

"Well, Potter, the time has come for us to begin preparations for your return to Hogwarts. The Headmaster and I have discussed the possibilities and have come up with a feasible course of action. You are to pose as my nephew, by the name of Alexander-" Here, Snape's expression twisted painfully before returning to a sneer. "-Alexander Snape. Not through a direct line, mind you; I am an only child. I do have, however, a cousin who has agreed to corroborate my story should the need arise. His name is Jacque Snape, and his is a cousin of mine. If anyone asks, you are his illegitimate child, and he did not wish to destroy his family by introducing them to you."

Snape had not looked at Harry once through this monologue, though a smirk twisted his features for a moment.

"The reason he was forced to acknowledge you was the death of your mother, a witch by the name of Jeannie DuPré. Unfortunately, she was something of a recluse, and you didn't get along well. She refused to talk of her past and so you know nothing of her family or her background. Can you remember that?"

Harry blinked at the suddenness of this information before realising that Snape was waiting for a reply.

"Er – yes –" Harry wasn't quite sure what he should call Snape now, and didn't want to think about the options, so he settled for nothing, and Snape didn't push the subject.

"Very well," said Snape, going on. "As your biological father wanted nothing to do with you, he contacted me and arranged for you to have a place at Hogwarts. As you only met your father once, you know little of him or his family, and that is what you will tell people if they ask."

Harry nodded his angrily, his fists clenched as he glared down at the table. He wondered if he could burn a hole in it if he stared at it long enough.

"Now we will move onto your personal history. You have lived, for the better part of your life, on the north-western shore of France, in a nameless village outside of Cherbourg."

Harry was about to say that he'd never even heard of Cherbourg, let alone know where it was, whenSnape pushed forward a piece of parchment. Harry grabbed it before it could drift onto the floor from the force of Snape's thrust, and saw that it was a map, Cherbourg clearly highlighted.

"Why must I have such a depressing past?" Harry demanded.

Snape sneered as though Harry were a particularly annoying bug that he was longing to crush.

_The feeling's mutual_, Harry thought.

"Because, Potter, the more uncomfortable people feel about you, the less likely they are to ask questions."

Harry dropped his gaze back to the spot on the table, imaging that there was a faint scorch mark there. Snape was talking again, and Harry forced himself to pay attention.

"Over the next three weeks, I will be teaching you the basics of the French language – don't object – and tutoring you in the subjects of potions, ancient runes and arithmancy."

"Why?" burst out Harry.

"Why?" repeated Snape softly. His face appeared to be reddening. "Because, Potter, you are abysmal at Potions, and I will not have _my_ name and reputation tarnished by someone _pretending_ to be a Snape."

Harry paled slightly, feeling like he had been hit in the stomach, but Snape was still going.

"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, because you can not continue on in exactly the same subjects as you were before. Arithmancy is of a suitable difficulty level that people will not become suspicious. It is possible, with a lot of work, to become acceptable if I tutor you. You will be dropping Care of Magical Creatures."

"But that's Hagrid's class! I don't want to quit it!"

"Despite what you or I may wish, the Headmaster has already made the arrangements."

Harry sat fuming, knowing that arguing with Snape would do no good when he had Dumbledore's backing. He was drawn from his thoughts though, when Snape placed a pile of books in front of him. He picked up the first one and looked at the title. _The Beginner's Guide to French_, and beneath that was _Ancient Runes: Ancient Teachings_, _The Arithmancy Apprentice_, _Advanced Arithmancy_ and _The Potions Compendium_.

"I have to read all of these in three weeks?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"You have better things to do?" snapped Snape.

Harry was about to retort, but reminded himself that things would be much happier if he didn't get on Snape's bad – or worse – side.

"That is what I thought," sneered Snape in response to Harry's silence. "Begin with the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes sources – those are the most important. By tomorrow night I expect the first two chapters to have been read and summarised. If you compete that, though I doubt you will, begin on the guide to French."

Harry nodded sharply, refusing again to meet Snape's eyes.

Wood scraped against linoleum as Snape pushed his chair back and stood.

"Is my lesson over?" asked Harry hopefully, looking up.

"If we were only so lucky," muttered Snape. "No, Potter. You may move with me into the living room. Bring one of your books to begin reading."

Standing up immediately and grabbing the book on Arithmancy, Harry traipsed into the living room with Snape and dropped into the chair closest to the fire. He slowly opened the book to find a page full of writing and began reading. He bored of that after five minutes, and spent the next ten glancing between the television and the first chapter. Finally, Snape looked up and sharply told him to stop his fidgeting.

"Was one of your parents muggle born?" asked Harry abruptly, partly out of curiosity and partly out of knowing that it would annoy the man. Snape met Harry's eyes for the first time this evening in anger.

"That is none of your business," Snape snapped, his tone stating quite clearly that the subject was closed. Harry blinked in anger.

"I think it is," he replied quietly when Snape looked down. Snape looked back at him again, not having expected a response.

"You dare to contradict me?" he hissed incredulously.

"Yes," said Harry loudly. "If I must be stuck here with you for the next month, I'd like to know some things. I'd like to now about my family."

Snape's face reddened in anger and he stood up, flinging his book aside.

"My family is not _yours_," he said, so loudly as to be nearly yelling. Harry struggled out of his chair as well.

"Get used to it, _dad_," he mocked, stepping forwards. Snape jerked in surprise, but the anger never left his face.

"NEVER call me that again," he hissed, his voice dropping to a whisper at the end of it. "Never…"

Harry turned angrily and picked up his book from where it had fallen.

"Fine," he murmured, yet again feeling disappointment where there should have been righteous anger and indignant triumph. "Fine."

He turned and started for his room, and was just about to walk down the hall when he stopped, clapping a hand to his forehead. He heard Snape stiffen behind him with a rustle of robes a second later. Snape drew in a deep breath, and har fancied that he heard a quiver in it. He turned to face Snape, a bitter half-smile on his face.

"He's mad," Harry said quietly, and then a bit louder, "have fun."

Without waiting for the yelling that would inevitably follow if he stayed, Harry hurried off to his room, feeling slightly bad for Snape and wishing he didn't.

**oOoOo**

It was only when Harry awoke the next morning that he realised he had forgotten, in his anger, to ask Snape if he could go outside or use magic. He made a note to ask him that night. To his disappointment (or relief, he wasn't quite sure which) Snape didn't turn up that night or the next, and Harry was left on his own, with only a note from Dumbledore to let him know that Snape was okay.

_Like I care_, thought Harry, scrunching the note angrily. He was even more annoyed to find that the anger was at himself, because he _did_ care. Despite his words to Snape, he found himself suddenly worried that something had happened to the sour man into whose family he had suddenly been thrust.

In an attempt to stop thinking about _things_, and his life in general, Harry threw himself into his work, and did, in fat, finish the requested chapter by the time Snape normally came by. By the end of that day he had become quite…intrigued by Ancient Runes, and decided that Arithmancy wasn't too terrible either. They were hard, though, and Harry wondered desperately how he would ever catch up two years worth of work in four weeks. Nevertheless, Harry completed two chapters of each book the day after that, and even found the will to begin studying the little handbook on French that Snape had deposited before him that night. Despite the language not looking overly difficult, Harry quickly grew to hate it, and put the book down in favour of the Ancient Runes text book.

On the second day of Snape's absence, Harry sat down to write a letter to Ron and Hermione, but after only four lines he had run out of things to say. Instead of putting it in an envelope (a French word, he thought with distaste) in preparation to give to Snape to pass on, Harry scrunched it up and threw it in the bin. He strolled in boredom back to the living room, dragging his hand along the wall as he did so. He fell asleep watching the television.

**oOoOo**

"I trust you will be going to see Harry tomorrow?" Dumbledore asked, but it wasn't really a question. Snape grunted in reply, massaging his wrist. Dumbledore pressed on. "How are things going with him?" he asked, his tone light. Snape looked up with the expected sneer.

"The boy is rude and – and uncouth, discourteous…"

"My dear boy, you are aware that they all mean the same thing, are you not?"

Snape's frown deepened, and Dumbledore went on.

"Are you any better to him, Severus?"

Snape's scowl deepened even further at the accusation.

"Do not treat me like a child, Albus. I am far from one. Do you know what he said to me the other night?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"When the Dark Lord called, he felt it, in that damnable scar of his. And you know what he did when he felt it? He turned to me and told me that the Dark Lord was mad. And _then_…then, he told me to have _fun_!"

Snape sneered at them memory, but Dumbledore looked concerned.

"He feels it when Tom calls you?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

"It would seem so," admitted Snape, his lip curling.

Dumbledore stood slowly and moved around the desk, a troubled expression on his face. Snape stood and moved to follow him as he headed for the doors. Dumbledore led Snape into the outer office, but instead of descending the staircase at Snape had expected, the headmaster went to a statue on the opposite wall.

"Nostradamus," murmured the old Headmaster. Snape frowned slightly as the statue jumped aside to reveal a narrow, winding staircase the ascended into darkness.

"Albus?" he questioned, but Dumbledore was already disappearing up into the inky blackness. Snape hastened after him, feeling his way blindly up the stone steps. For a moment he thought there would be no end to the darkness, but Dumbledore murmured yet another password and with a scrape of stone against stone, a doorway opened and dull light filtered into the stairwell. "Albus?"

"I haven't brought another person up here since Victoria," Dumbledore murmured. Underneath his confusion at Dumbledore's behaviour, Snape felt oddly touched.

"Albus?" he questioned for the third time. "Is something the matter?"

**oOoOo**

**A/N: Well I was writing this chapter and decided that I wanted to have a sub-plot that wasn't to do with Harry. As a result, this chapter was cut short. Despite this, it would be nice if you would review :) I sincerely hope you are enjoying reading the story as much as I am enjoying writing it - Wujjawoo**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: Purpleygirl – I found your review very amusing. I didn't even occur to me as I was writing that the currency in Britain is not dollars. I do apologise for the house, as well, but I have absolutely no idea what British infrastructure is like. In case I make any more glaringly obvious errors, would all British readers please note that I am Australian :P As for your comment bout Snape having Snape Manor…sorry. If it's any consolation, it won't be Snape Manor, and it _does_ serve an actual purpose in the story. But I won't say any more. And teachersnape64 – I apologise for the short chapters. I _am_ trying to make them longer, but I'm finding myself very short of time at the moment. I think most people prefer frequent updates to longer chapters, but I too wish they could be longer. I promise to try. **

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe. _

**oOoOo**

Snape dropped Harry's essays onto the table in silence before sitting in the seat across from him. Harry glanced through them and saw with a small amount of satisfaction that he had received 'Acceptable' for most of them, 'Exceeds Expectations' for one, and 'Outstanding' for two. A small part of him wished that Snape wouldn't be so formal about everything, while the other part just hoped that he could survive until the holidays were over. Harry realised then that he had been in a state of perpetual anger since he had found out the truth about Snape. The truth, as Harry referred to it, because he couldn't bear to attribute the word 'father' to Snape any longer, was still an ever-present and looming obstacle between them, preventing even the slightest peaceful communications between the two of them.

Snape was cold and rude and as prickly as ever and in return, Harry was the same. Their lessons seldom went by without dispute, and Harry found himself just waiting for the moment when Snape would leave. On this particular evening, Snape seemed preoccupied, his thoughts elsewhere. He didn't say anything about where he had been and Harry didn't ask. Something seemed to be gnawing at him, and Harry desperately wanted to know what it was. After Harry had finished eating, and before Snape could involve him in another long-winded lecture about proper French pronunciation, Harry broached the subject of using magic.

"Er – sir…"

"Yes?"

"Er – I was just wondering if I'm allowed to use magic. I mean, I'm of age and everything…"

Snape fixed him with a piercing glare over the top of his magazine and Harry glared right back, challengingly.

"If you absolutely must," he snapped finally. "I cannot stop you. As you say, you are of age."

With that, Snape ruffled his magazine irritably and folded it up, his brows drawn together. Harry wondered if Snape was always so down, or if it was just because he was here. Harry liked to think it was the former, but he wasn't so sure. Wondering if he might be pushing his luck, but thinking that he might as well go for it, Harry asked another question.

"And sir, do you think it's possible for me to write to my friends? I could owl them-"

"You most certainly will not be sending any owls, Potter. I have charms around my house preventing owls reaching here in any case, so you won't be receiving letters in any case."

"You could take them for me," Harry said, and immediately regretted it. Snape looked up at him angrily.

"I am not an owl, Potter!" He stood up. "Now if you have nothing else that you need to know-"

"Actually, there's one more thing," Harry said quickly, wondering how far he could push Snape. Snape stopped speaking, his lips pursed tightly. "Can I go outside?" asked Harry. "It's just, I've been stuck inside for nearly a week, and I want to go out."

"You cannot be outside, Potter. Someone would almost certainly recognise you, and it is no secret that people are looking for you. I am afraid that it is out of the question."

Harry crossed his arms and glared coldly up a Snape.

"People are hardly going to recognise me if I don't look like Harry Potter, are they?" he retorted. "Would _you_ recognise me?"

Harry watched as Snape got even angrier, his mouth curling up in a snarl.

"Do not push me, Potter! You know the rules. They are not going to change. If you choose to break them, the consequences will be on no-one's shoulders but your own."

Harry stood up, his chair sliding back and hitting the wall with a loud _crack_. He stepped around the table and up to Snape.

"You know what?" he said, thrusting his face forward aggressively. Snape stared down at him imperiously, and Harry suddenly realised that they were nearly the same height. "You know what?" he repeated. "You don't have to like this and neither do I, Snape, but you have _no right_ to treat me this way. I'm _not your child_. I'm not anybody's child, so don't treat me like one. I know I'm only here because Dumbledore's got some plan, and I know there's nothing we can do about it, but you're the one who wanted to do it without any fuss. If you don't want fuss, then you're the one who's going to change. I'm making the effort, and you're just acting like you always do. You know that James Potter isn't my father, Snape, so stop bloody pretending that I am. I'd rather you hate me for being your son than for being his."

Snape just stood there, his expression unchanged. He studied Harry for a moment before raising his eyebrows slightly, as though Harry had said something stupid.

"Take a seat, Potter," he said finally, his tone impatient. Harry wilted slightly, even as more anger filled him. He took a small step back, his hands balling into fists. Snape stared down at him imperiously, waiting for Harry to obey.

"I hate you," Harry said quietly. Snape didn't reply. He didn't move at all.

"Take a seat," he said finally. Harry sat.

**oOoOo**

Spinner's End was a dreary area of London, but it wasn't all that far from the city. If he walked down the street and turned left into an overgrown and narrow pathway, and then followed the street that that led to, Harry found a place that he could recognise. There was a big park with a pond, and the pond had ducks. Harry went and sat underneath a tree and watched the ducks, wishing he could be one. He immediately felt foolish for wishing that he could be a bird.

He stood up followed the edge of the lake around. He was startled to catch sight of is reflection in the water, and felt a strange sense of fascination. Seeing himself like this gave the situation a whole new sense of realness that hadn't been there before. This was him, doing what normal people did. He didn't feel normal though, not like the little girl who ran in front of him to throw bread to the ducks, or the little boy who fell over and cried for his mother. Normal people didn't suddenly change their appearance when they found out secrets, or have to go into hiding. Normal people didn't have owls that delivered letters and they didn't wave wands around and do magic. Normal people were like the Dursleys- Harry stopped that train of thought before it led him any further and turned back toward the way to Spinner's End. The day didn't seem so bright any more and he was eager to get out of the sun that now shone to strongly and away from the crowds who all seemed to stare at him in suspicion, wondering why he wasn't in school.

Bitterly, Harry trudge along the pavement, kicking at loose pebbles along the way. His hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was barely midday, but already Harry was thoroughly dreading the evening to come. It seemed as though Snape grew angrier with each passing day, and Harry felt silly sitting there and trying to pronounce silly French verbs to the spiteful man.

Fingering his wand in his pocket, Harry remembered that he _could_ use magic, _could_ go out if he wanted, and furthermore, he had Snape's grudging (albeit angered) permission to do it. Feeling a bit rebellious and more than a little self-righteous, Harry turned instead for the main road and caught a bus into the city.

He felt considerably more joyful as he stepped off of the bus near King's Cross and set off for Diagon Alley with a spring in his step. He stood outside the Leaky Cauldron for a few moments, realising suddenly that he had never been to Diagon Alley alone before. Nevertheless, he continued on and passed through the dim light of the pub without being seen. He only realised when he stood in the deserted alley at the back of the pub that he didn't need to be worried about being seen any more.

The thought made him smile slightly as he tapped the bricks. There was something freeing in anonymity, and it buoyed his spirits immensely. He bought a peanut butter and strawberry ice-cream from Florean Fortescue (three sickles) and sat outside as he ate it. Business in Diagon Alley was fairly slow, being the middle of the day, and Harry liked the lazy atmosphere. Once he had finished his ice-cream he wandered down to Ollivander's, thinking that he might as well buy a new wand while he was here.

The door opened silently, but the bell above it caught and tinkled merrily. Harry thought that it sounded out of place in the spooky shop.

"Can I help you?" came a voice from the darkness. Harry jumped, caught unawares.

"Ah – yes, please," he said, clearing his throat and injecting an accent into his voice. "I need a new wand, please."

"Of course, of course," replied Ollivander, advancing with tape measure in hand. Harry stepped forward into the centre of the shop, feeling slightly vulnerable. Ollivander appeared older than ever before, his silver fly-away hair and pale blue eyes giving him an eerie, ethereal appearance. He began measuring Harry's leg, speaking quietly.

"New around here?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," replied Harry.

"Foreign?"

"I'm from France," Harry replied as the tape measure took control of itself and Ollivander moved towards the shelves. "I'm starting at Hogwarts after the holidays."

"Good, good," Ollivander muttered, though it didn't sound as if he was talking to Harry.

Ollivander reached up to the highest shelf and pulled down a long thin box.

"Try this," he said, removing an elegant wand from the box and handing it to Harry. "Just give it a wave."

Harry took the wand delicately in his grip, but he had barely begun to move it when Ollivander tore it from his grasp, much as he had done on Harry's first visit to this shop.

"Definitely not!" he proclaimed, and hurried back to the shelf. He selected another one.

"12 inches, dragon heartstring, oak. Rather swishy…"

Harry gave it a wave, to no avail, and the wand was again taken from him. Ollivander tutted slightly, a small frown appearing on his face as the pile of discarded wands grew taller. Harry began to grow tired of the repetition, thinking that he should just give up. He reminded himself that he needed another wand to fight Voldemort and waved yet another useless stick as it was handed to him.

As the last time, Ollivander began to grow increasingly excited as they tried more and more wands.

"Just wait here a moment, young man," he said, holding up a stubby finger. He disappeared into the gloom at the rear of the shop and returned a moment later with a nondescript box, devoid even of Ollivander's crest.

"Try," he demanded, holding out a dark coloured wand. It was long and slim, a darker hue than Harry's holly wand. As soon as he curved his fingers around the handle he knew that this was the one. His hand shivered in delight as warmth seeped through his fingers, and he brought it rushing down in an arc of bright sparks.

"Excellent, excellent!" exclaimed Ollivander proudly, as Harry smiled slightly. The wand felt just as good as his other, but Harry thought that it was in a different way. It spoke to him on another level, in some way he had never experienced with his other wand.

"How fortunate," murmured Ollivander. "My newest creation, as luck would have it. Not even on the shelves yet! Yew, eleven inches, with a core of phoenix feather. Very firm. Good for curses and precise wand work. A powerful wand, young man."

He fixed Harry with a critical eye, concerned at his sudden stillness.

"Is something the matter?"

Harry cleared his throat and blinked, removing his gaze from the wand that he suddenly did not want so much.

"Yew, you said? And phoenix feather?"

"Yes, it is quite in its own class. Phoenix feather and yew are rarely ever compatible together; I've sold few of them in my time here, and it has been a long time."

Harry nodded, swallowing.

"And – and from which phoenix is this feather?" Harry asked. The chance was slim, he knew, but he had to make sure.

"Oh!" said Ollivander leaning back slightly. "How extraordinary! I believe that this particular feather is from the companion of Albus Dumbledore. I will have to write and let him know! It is only the third feather he has given me."

Harry stared down at the wand in confusion. What did this mean? Another wand, useless against Voldemort. Did it mean that Voldemort, too, would be unable to procure another usable wand. Harry hoped with all his heart that that would be the case.

"You have…no other wands that I can try?" Harry asked, feeling that the request would be futile.

"The wand chooses the wizard, young man," said Ollivander sternly. "You were a difficult customer; I doubt we could find you another so perfect."

**oOoOo**

Harry wandered Diagon Alley for a good two hours, revelling in the sense of freedom. His enjoyment was muted, though, by the second wand that now occupied his pocket. It was as useless as his other, but he had still given Ollivander the twelve galleons for it. Despite its uselessness, something about it had called to him on an intimate level and so he had bought it. It wasn't just that fact that worried him, though; it was the wand itself. It worried him, because Voldemort's wand, too, was yew and phoenix feather. And this worried Harry greatly.

Harry threaded his way slowly through the steadily growing crowds, his thoughts on the wand. His worries were forgotten a moment later however, as Harry saw none other than Albus Dumbledore emerge from apothecary. He turned away from Harry and continued down the paved street, and impulsively, Harry followed him. Dumbledore swept down the street, his long robes sweeping the ground and his hands clasped in front of him. He nodded occasionally as people stopped to greet him, but suddenly it seemed as though people stopped noticing him. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had cast a spell on himself, as he saw people's eyes slide straight by him.

Harry followed Dumbledore as he passed Gringotts, he followed as he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he followed as the elderly headmaster turned into Knockturn Alley.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: I apologise very much for the long wait. Unfortunately I've been very busy, and I've been sick, and my muse has taken off on holiday. Still, I hope you enjoyed! Please review – Wujjawoo**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hatred is Harder to Bear**

**-Wujjawoo-**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: So...4 and a half years since my last update...sorry!**

**oOoOo**

_You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe._

**oOoOo**

No amount of creativity could help Harry come up with a story to justify what he had just witnessed in Knockturn Alley. After all, famous wizards like Dumbledore did not naively or unintentionally cast spells to avoid being seen, nor did they accidentally wonder down Knockturn Alley or frequent stores of a questionable nature. And the store into which Dumbledore had wondered, which appeared not to have a name at all, certainly seemed to be of a questionable nature.

Harry wished that he could have followed Dumbledore in; would have given anything to know what business he had in an area of Knockturn Alley that was more secluded even than Borgin and Burkes, but Dumbledore would surely have noticed him. He considered a glamour, but this was no innocent place where people would not be on the lookout for such deception.

Instead, Harry had to be content with skulking in the shadows and waiting until Dumbledore emerged, some thirty minutes later, tucking something wrapped in a loose black material deep into his robes. Whatever it was, it was small, maybe a book or a small box, but there was no well Harry could tell anything more, and even that was a vague guess.

Dumbledore stepped off down the street in the direction of Diagon Alley, and Harry faced a moment of indecision. Should he follow Dumbledore, or should he go into the shop? He could always come back, but he had to get back to Spinner's End soon, and he doubted he would get another opportunity to come back to Diagon Alley before returning to Hogwarts. With a huff, Harry stalked out of the shadows and across the street, coming to a stop outside the shopfront. It was quite ordinary – a window and a door, but the mantel above the door was devoid of any sign and the window was made of a glass so dark that it was impossible to see through.

Harry steeled himself and pushed open the door. It was not what he had expected. Almost-bare shelves lined the walls, with only a few curious objects upon them. Harry couldn't be sure whether they were simply there for decoration or whether they were for sale. As he stood looking around for a clue as to what the shop sold, a man emerged from the back room of the shop. As the curtain swung closed behind him, Harry glimpsed a rather fancy and quite cosy looking sitting room with plush red chairs.

"Can I help you?" the man asked sharply, looking at Harry suspiciously. Harry thought his voice sounded familiar, and wondered if he had made a mistake coming here.

"Er – no, thanks," said Harry. "Just looking."

It was a pitiful excuse. The man glared at him.

"Young men do not simply wander into shops in Knockturn Alley _browsing_," said the man. "Evidently you have no idea what we do here, and as such I must ask you to leave. Your business does not lie here."

Unfortunately, Harry had to agree, and was rather glad for the chance to escape. He hurried out, walking fast all the way back to Diagon Alley. Pushing roughly into the crowd, he found himself face-to-face with Ernie MacMillan, whose shopping he had just knocked to the ground in his haste. With a start Harry realised that of course there would be people here; it was term break, and everyone would be on holiday.

Ernie glared and eyed him suspiciously before looking down Knockturn Alley and back to Harry, but seemed somewhat placated when Harry stuttered an apology and helped him pick up his thinks. He almost gave himself away by calling Ernie by name, but thankfully remembered just in time. His heart was pounding. This was the first time anyone but Dumbledore and Snape had seen his true appearance, and he hadn't realised how strange it would be. He felt as though Ernie could see right through him, and tell he wasn't who he was pretending to be.

"Sorry again," said Harry, and headed off with a nod.

"No worries mate," came Ernie's dubious reply. Maybe he was trying to decide whether or not Harry had actually come out of Knockturn Alley.

The thought of holidays and the looming presence of the new school term had done a good job of destroying Harry's cheerful mood, and he decided that the day would not be improved any further. He didn't want to risk running into anyone he might know better than Ernie, so headed back to Spinners End.

**oOoOo**

The crash course in French from Snape saw Harry develop a better than basic understanding of the language, though he doubted he would be able to fool anyone who tried to speak to him in French. He hoped they didn't. Perhaps he would just say that his mother spoke English at home. He found that he very much enjoyed Arithmancy, though Snape said he was rubbish at it, and he thought that Ancient Runes, though interesting, was going to be quite useless.

Snape's attitude toward him had not changed; however he seemed calmer now. While far from friendly and quick to chastise when Harry did something wrong, he no longer had a venomous word to say to every comment Harry made. He supposed it made their living together easier, and supposed things would go back to how they had always been once they returned to Hogwarts.

On Saturday morning, Snape announced that it was time to catch the train back to Hogwarts. Harry, never having gone on term break before, had completely forgotten what day it was, and was dreading the train ride.

"Can't I just go back with you?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course not, Potter! You are simply another student. Draco will also be going back on the train. We will be collecting him and you will go together to Kings Cross."

Harry scrunched up his nose at the thought of having to talk to Malfoy, and he could tell that Snape knew.

"You have to stop calling me Potter, you know," said Harry. "It's Alex now, remember?"

He left the room without waiting for Snape's reply and went to pack.

**oOoOo**

As Harry levitated his trunk into the lounge in preparation for leaving, he wondered where Malfoy was staying. He obviously wouldn't have been returning to the Malfoy home, given that it was under Ministry investigation. Harry went back to his room and checked that he had everything. With a sigh he turned to Hedwig in the corner.

"Well, girl, I guess this is it for while," he said, stroking her snowy feathers. "You're going to go live with Ron for a bit, OK? You have to pretend you don't know me if you see me."

Hedwig cooed in protest, ruffling her feathers in agitation.

"I know," sighed Harry. "I don't like it any better than you do. But I won't be far, I just can't use you as my owl anymore."

He scrawled a note to Ron, explaining that he couldn't keep Hedwig anymore, and that he needed Ron to look after her, and then she was gone. Harry felt like his last bit of hope was flying out of the window with her.

"Potter!" Snape called. Harry hurried out to where Snape waited with what was obviously a Portkey. Harry reached out and grabbed a hold, and with a jerk they left Spinners End. Seconds later, Harry's feet hit grass, and he steadied himself and looked around. They appeared to be standing on a nature strip of sorts, with high trees on either side. Off to the left, Harry could glimpse houses through the tree line.

"Where are we?" asked Harry in surprise. "Is this a Muggle area?"

"Yes," replied Snape. "There are many Muggles here, so no magic." He didn't say where they were. They started off through the trees, Harry dragging his trunk with difficulty. Snape had to keep stopping and waiting for him, and Harry could tell he was not happy.

Once they had passed through the trees, Snape led him down a path between two houses and into the street. Harry looked around him, somewhat impressed. The whole street was rather impressive, large houses on large blocks of land spread far into the distance, most looking out onto an impressive view from their perch on the hill. Snape, not stopping to admire anything, turned right and headed uphill for some way before turning into the driveway of a large white house with a blue roof. Neatly pruned bushes bordered the perfect lawn, and Harry got a string impression of the Dursleys. Snape pulled a key from his pocket and opened the front door; Harry followed him in and was rewarded with a view of a grand entrance hall.

The house wasn't huge, but it certainly was impressive, and Harry could tell that whoever lived here had a lot of money.

"Whose house is this?" he asked in awe. He imagined that it was somewhere that a Malfoy might live, and then suddenly wondered if it _was_ Malfoy Manor. "This isn't Malfoy's house is it?" he blurted out.

"Keep your voice down, A- Alexander!" he stumbled over the name and Harry felt his cheeks flame. "This was my mother's home. I rarely use it, it is too big for my needs."

Harry didn't think that was why Snape didn't use it. If he'd had a house this big he would certainly not be worrying that it was too big for one person. Snape continued on.

"Draco has been staying here. Come, we will go find him."

Harry dropped his trunk and followed Snape up a sweeping staircase and into a bedroom. It was obviously Malfoy's – A large unmade bed sat in the centre with a packed trunk ready to go at its foot. Harry went to the window and saw a magnificent view; beyond the nature strip was a lake. The backyard was huge, and as Harry looked, a second later, Malfoye came diving out of the sky on his broom.

"Professor!" exclaimed Harry. "Malfoy is on his broom! What if someone sees him?"

"Relax, Alexander," said Snape lazily, moving to the window. "The backyard is charmed. I gave him permission." He signalled Malfoy form the window, and a second later Malfoy alighted upon the window sill and jumped through into the room, his hair windblown and his cheeks pink. Harry felt a swoop of jealousy.

"Draco," Snape smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I trust you have been well?"

Malfoy nodded, smiling, an expression Harry rarely saw on his face. He turned to Harry.

"So you're Alex, then?" he asked, extending his hand, his face interested and friendly.

Harry took his hand out of surprise, shaking it. "Yes – hi. Draco..."

Snape looked on, an unidentifiable look on his face.

"Yes," he said. "Draco, Alexander. Alexander, Draco. Unfortunately I am in somewhat of a hurry today so I must send you on your way. Draco, you know where the Floo powder is? I will see you both at school."

Without further ado, he once more clasped Malfoy on the shoulder and left, his robes swirling about his ankles.

Suddenly, Harry was angry. Jealous and angry. How could Snape care for Draco so much; Draco, who was malevolent and nasty and hated anyone who wasn't rich or pureblood. How could Snape care for him and not for Harry, his own son? He had allowed Malfoy to stay in this fine house, with huge, comfortable rooms and good food and Quidditch, while Harry had been forced to remain cooped up in dismal Spinners End for weeks.

"Are you OK?" asked Malfoy uncertainly, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Yes, sorry," said Harry. "Nervous, I guess, I've never been to school before."

Malfoy laughed.

"Don't worry Alex, I'll show you around. You'll be sorted into Slytherin, obviously, so I'll keep an eye on you."

"Great," said Harry, though he really didn't mean it. Inside he was fuming. He hadn't realised how much he could hate Malfoy. Malfoy, however, seemed to find the fact that he now had an adoptive cousin quite fascinating, and wouldn't stop talking and asking questions. If it hadn't been Malfoy Harry would have been flattered, would even have enjoyed the company. How different people could be around their friends, he thought.

The two of them gathered up Malfoy's things and carried them downstairs to the fireplace. Harry's trunk had been moved and was already waiting there. He wondered who had done it, thinking _surely not Snape_, before realising that there was probably a house elf or two running around this massive home.

Malfoy went first, taking a handful of Floo Powder and yelling "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!" before disappearing in a rush of warm air. Harry followed suit, feeling as he stepped into the fireplace that he was stepping into his next life. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: I've just started writing on this account again after about 4 years (I finally have a break from uni and I'm not being slack), and I was re-reading some of my older stories and decided that in some of them, my writing is rubbish! I always knew when I was writing some of them that I wasn't really in to that I was rushing it a bit, but I didn't realise they were that bad! I promise not to let that happen to this story!**


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